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“WE CAN’T GET THERE TOO SOON!” 


The Rambler Club’s 
Winter Camp 


cc 


BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD 

it 

AUTHOR OF 


" THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT 
THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS ** 
ETC. 




THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 
MCMX 




COPYRIGHT 
1910 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



©CLA261981 


Introduction 


“The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp,” 
though a story complete in itself, deals with 
the further adventures of the jolly club whose 
acquaintance we made in “The Rambler Club 
Afloat.” 

Although Nat Wingate has not always acted 
a good part toward Bob Somers and his 
friends, they are generous enough to forget 
past differences. 

An enforced vacation, due to the burning 
of the Kingswood high school, gives the five 
boys an opportunity to accompany Nat and 
his friend, John Hackett, on a winter camping 
trip. 

Life in the wilds, amidst snow and ice, has 
its discomforts and dangers, as well as charms, 
and many trying and exciting experiences fall 
to their lot ; and these they meet with a cheer- 
ful, courageous spirit. 

But this is not all ; a series of happenings 
puzzle the boys, their wonder and curiosity 
3 


4 


Introduction 


increasing, as one strange incident follows 
another, until the mystery is eventually 
solved. 

Their life in camp has done them a world 
of good ; and they return home full of pleas- 
ant and lasting remembrances. Some of the 
further outdoor experiences of the same boys 
may be found in “ The Rambler Club in the 
Mountains ” and “ The Rambler Club on Cir- 
cle T Ranch.” 


W. Crispin Sheppard. 


Contents 


I. 

The Fire-Bell . 



‘ 

9 

II. 

The Bucket Brigade 




l 7 

III. 

Off to the Woods . 




26 

IV. 

“ Undeniable Fact ” 




40 

V. 

The Road of Ice 




53 

VI. 

Making Camp . 




65 

VII. 

The First Hunt 




77 

VIII. 

The Guardians 




87 

IX. 

A New Sport 




98 

X. 

A Skating Match 




108 

XI. 

A Night Alarm 




120 

XII. 

The Wildcat . 




I 37 

XIII. 

On the Trail . 




J 53 

XIV. 

Hunter and Trapper 




163 

XV. 

A Practical Joke 




I 74 

XVI. 

Yardsley’s Traps 




*79 

XVII. 

Smoke Signals . 




187 

XVIII. 

Who Took the Furs? 




i95 

XIX. 

Lost in the Snow 




203 

XX. 

Wolves ! . 




210 

XXI. 

Suspicions . 




225 

XXII. 

The Fawn 




235 


5 


6 


Contents 


XXIII. 

Back to Camp 

. 246 

XXIV. 

A Quarrel . 

. 256 

XXV. 

Self-Defense . 

. 276 

XXVI. 

Snowballs . 

. 282 

XXVII. 

A Cave and a Bear 

. 286 

XXVIII. 

The Note on the Door . 

. 296 

XXIX. 

The Near-Bandits 

• 3°5 

XXX. 

Burying the Hatchet . 

. 312 

XXXI. 

Yardsley’s Last Joke 

• 3 l6 


Illustrations 


PAGE 

" We Can’t Get There too Soon ” . Frontispiece S 


“ Hello ! ” Exclaimed One of the Strangers . 92 \S 

With Guns Tightly Clasped, They Started . 123 S 

Don’t Waste a Shot 2201/ 

How About the Storehouse Door ? .... 306^ 


The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp 



The Rambler Club’s 
Winter Camp 


CHAPTER I 

THE FIRE-BELL 

Bob Somers, in his room on the upper floor 
of Pembroke Hall, was busily engaged in 
working out an algebraic equation. The cozy 
little study adjoined his bedroom, and was 
situated almost underneath a tower which 
rose above the surrounding trees. On the 
walls several engravings and photographs 
were tastefully hung, while close to the desk 
before which Bob was seated stood a table 
covered with the various odds and ends 
which boys are apt to possess. 

It was one of those cold, keen winter nights 
when the comforts of a warm and cozy room 
seem especially attractive. The weather was 
clear, but the streets were white with snow, 
9 


io The Rambler Club’s 

and a slight breeze made the tree-tops sigh 
and murmur. 

Suddenly Bob Somers raised his eyes from 
the paper before him and listened intently. 

The booming of a bell came over the frosty 
air, now very faint, then rising clearly, as the 
sound of the breeze sank to a low, droning 
whisper. 

“ My gracious ! ” cried Bob. “ The fire- 
bell ! ” 

For a second time, the ominous notes 
pealed forth, two coming close together, then, 
after a brief pause, seven in succession. 

“ Box twenty-seven ! I wonder where it 
is.” 

The fire-alarm was seldom heard in the 
quiet little town of Kingswood, and the sound 
made his pulse quicken. 

He hastily opened a door and made his way 
to an iron staircase which led to the tower. 
Up two steps at a time he bounded, until a 
small square room was reached. It had win- 
dows on all sides and commanded an exten- 
sive view of the surrounding country. 

Bob Somers peered eagerly out at the icy 
winter scene. The limits of the snow-covered 


11 


Winter Camp 

grounds of Pembroke Hall were defined by a 
row of electric lights on the highway. Be- 
yond, several residences appeared faintly 
against the sky, but nearly all else was lost in 
gloom. Myriads of stars shone brilliantly. 

A faint, hazy patch, as of smoke illumi- 
nated by an electric light, appeared above a 
dark line of trees. 

“ That must be the fire/’ murmured Bob, 
in some excitement. “ Great Csesar ! It’s 
near the schoolhouse.” 

Dashing down-stairs, he quickly donned his 
overcoat and hat. 

“ Fo’ goodness’ sakes, what am de matter? ” 
inquired Peter Lexington, the colored boy, in 
astonishment. 

“ There’s a fire, Peter ! Can’t stop to talk 
now.” 

“ Fo’ de lub of goodness ! a fire ? ” 

The surprising intelligence seemed to de- 
prive Peter of all movement, and before he 
could utter another word, Bob was off. 

In a moment, he had passed between the 
tall gate-posts at the entrance. 

The air was sharp and keen. Great banks 
of snow, heaped up along the sides of the 


12 The Rambler Club’s 

street, shone brightly in the glare of electric 
lights. 

As Bob Somers neared the scene, he learned 
to his astonishment that the high school was 
on fire. 

Kingswood, a wealthy community, had an 
excellent fire department. It was equipped 
with a ladder truck and an automobile fire- 
engine, the motor of which also operated the 
pumps. 

The high school stood back from the street, 
surrounded by spacious grounds. In the 
centre of the three-story stone building rose 
a cupola of attractive design. About a 
hundred feet distant, the road was bridged 
over a large pond. 

Bob Somers, breathing hard after his run, 
mingled with the excited groups in front of 
the school. 

A cloud of whitish smoke partially obscured 
the building, its heaviest portion being toward 
the western end. 

“ It’s getting away from them, sure,” said a 
man close by. “ If they don’t hustle along 
that steamer from Rockville pretty soon the 
place is a goner.”* 


Winter Camp 13 

Breaks in the curling wreaths of smoke 
revealed a ladder leaning against the wall and 
a line of hose entering the window above it. 
The shouts of the volunteers rose above the 
continuous roar of the Kingswood engine and 
the excited murmur of the crowd. 

“ That man is right,” thought Bob, with a 
tremor of excitement ; “ I only wish some- 
thing more could be done.” 

From the midst of the crowd, at a point 
some distance away, rose a peculiar shout, 
somewhat like the hooting of an owl. 

Instantly Bob Somers threw back his head, 
and made a similar sound. This was a special 
signal often used by the Ramblers to call each 
other. 

“ Hello, Dave Brandon ! ” cried Bob, lustily. 

“ Hello yourself ! ” 

In a moment the stout boy hurried for- 
ward. 

“ Isn’t it awful, Bob, to see the old school 
going up like this?” he said. 

“ How did it start, Chubby? ” 

“ Guess no one knows. Let’s find the other 
fellows. Give a whoop, Bob ! ” 

“ Hello, Sam Randall ! ” 


>4 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Hello, Dick ! ” 

“ Hi, hi, Tom Clifton ! ” 

In a few minutes, the Ramblers had man- 
aged to locate each other. 

“ Maybe we can save something yet/’ cried 
Bob. “ Let's go into the grounds." 

There was no railing, consequently they 
had free access, and the frozen crust presently 
began to crack sharply beneath their feet. 

“ Professor Hopkins is over there I ” ex- 
claimed Bob Somers. “ He just came out of 
the door." 

Bob darted between the groups of people, 
with the others close at his heels. 

“ Professor Hopkins ! " he cried. 

The principal, enveloped in a long coat, 
seemed almost overcome with emotion. He 
was staggering along under a load of books. 

“ Somers ! " he exclaimed. 

“ Yes, sir ! We're going to try and save 
something ! " 

“ I am ruined ! " gasped Professor Hopkins, 
apparently not hearing his words. “ The fire 
is steadily gaining — my office is doomed." 

“ Come on, fellows ! " shouted Bob. 

The moment he reached the doorway, 


Winter Camp 15 

Professors Hughes and Ivins came out, each 
carrying an armful of books. 

“ Don’t go in there ! ” shouted the former, 
warningly ; “ you’ll be stifled.” 

“ If the Rockville engine was only here, 
Professor Hopkins’ office might be saved,” 
exclaimed Professor Ivins. 

“ Boys ! ” cried Dave Brandon ; “ I’ve got 

an idea. We’ll form a chain and get water 
from the pond.” 

“ Splendid, Chubby ! You’ve struck it ! ” 
broke in Bob, enthusiastically. 

“ There are plenty of people around who 
ought to help us,” added Dick Travers ; “ it 
must be a double line — one to pass back the 
empty buckets.” 

The students turned toward the crowd. 

“ Who wants to join a bucket brigade ? ” 
yelled Dave Brandon. 

“ I do ! ” shouted one. 

“ Count me in,” added another. 

The crowd, as if ashamed of its former 
inactivity, became animated with life. 
Strangely enough, it had not occurred to any 
one before that some use might be made of 
the pond. 


16 The Rambler Club’s 

Dick Travers, Sam Randall and Tom Clif- 
ton, accompanied by several others, started off 
in search of buckets. An axe was procured 
— then the frozen surface of Deal’s pond be- 
gan to resound to the sturdy blows of the vol- 
unteers. 

In the meantime Bob Somers and Dave 
Brandon had entered the building. Choking 
and sputtering, they reached the main corridor 
and saw bright tongues of flame mingling 
with the smoke. 

From the floor above came excited shouts 
and the sound of axes chopping through 
rafters and beams. 

Bob Somers and Dave Brandon did not 
care to tarry long. Their eyes ached and 
choking sensations gripped their throats. 

“ Unless the fellows hurry up, it will be 
too late,” gasped Dave, as the two made their 
way out and stood upon the steps. 

“ Let’s make a dash for the president’s 
room, and get out some of his things,” cried 
Bob Somers. “ Come on, Dave Brandon ! ” 

Both boys again disappeared in the smoke- 
laden atmosphere. 


CHAPTER II 


THE BUCKET BRIGADE 

It was a rather perilous undertaking. 
Professors Hughes and Ivins, both elderly 
men, did not dare to again brave the danger. 

“ Come back, boys — come back ! ” called 
Professor Hughes, distractedly. 

But Bob Somers and Dave Brandon were 
already groping their way toward the presi- 
dent's office, which was situated to the left of 
the entrance. They knew that it contained 
some of the most prized possessions of Pro- 
fessor Hopkins. Besides books and scientific 
instruments there were rare collections of 
butterflies and other insects. 

The Ramblers knew where the cases were 
kept, and their efforts to reach them proved 
successful. A few moments more and they 
were staggering toward the entrance heavily 
laden. 

“ Bravo, boys ! ” cried the professor of 
mathematics, seizing the precious trays. 

17 


The Rambler Club’s 


18 


“ Hurrah for the bucket brigade ! ” shouted 
Bob Somers. “ Here comes the water.” 

Two lines of men and boys, reaching from 
the schoolhouse steps to the pond, were ready 
and eager for work. In a moment the first 
bucket had arrived. Bob Somers seized it 
and rushed inside. 

The buckets began to follow each other in 
rapid succession, and the volunteers, in relays, 
fought the flames with determined efforts. 

Dave Brandon continued to work in the 
president’s office, and as fast as articles were 
brought out other students carried them to 
the home of Professor Hughes, almost op- 
posite the school. At length they had the 
satisfaction of taking over the last tray. 

Suddenly the clang of a distant bell came 
over the air. 

“ The Rockville engine ! ” cried Bob. 

In a few moments it rumbled over the 
bridge, leaving a trail of embers, which the 
breeze caught up and danced merrily along 
the snow-covered street. 

Then the tender, with loudly clanging bell, 
passed between the crowds which had hastily 
parted to the right and left. 


l 9 


Winter Camp 

Bob and his companions felt that their 
services were no longer needed, so they threw 
aside their buckets and walked across the 
street to the engine. 

It had taken a position beneath an electric 
lamp, its polished surfaces glistening brightly. 
Several firemen were already attaching the 
suction hose. Another was piling on fuel 
and the peculiar smell of soft coal smoke 
mingled with the pungent odor of burning 
wood from the schoolhouse. A hissing sound 
showed that the steam had reached a high 
pressure. It was an interesting moment to 
the boys. 

“ Come on with the water ! ” shouted a 
voice. Instantly the engineer turned the 
valve, and a loud puffing began, while a 
shower of sparks shot upward through the 
smoky air. 

By this time, the fire had worked its way 
through the central portion of the school and 
found a vent in the cupola. The windows 
had been broken by the heat and long streamers 
of flame pierced the whirling smoke. 

An extension ladder was placed against the 
eaves and a number of firemen ascended to 


20 


The Rambler Club’s 


the roof, where, almost hidden by the smoke, 
they dropped a rope and began hauling up 
another line of hose. 

But the fire in the cupola was rapidly in- 
creasing. The flames having united into 
a solid body leaped furiously upward, pre- 
senting the appearance of a gigantic torch 
surmounted by a column of smoke and burn- 
ing brands. 

Within a few minutes, the scene had won- 
derfully changed. The entire mass of smoke 
seemed to be drawn upward by the rush of 
air, and mingling with that from the cupola, 
stood out with a deep, sullen red from a 
background of starlit sky. 

The electric lights began to look pale and 
ghostlike, and a ruddy glare suffused the 
landscape, while myriads of embers drifted 
slowly earthward. 

“ My eye, that certainly is a pretty sight, 
eh, Somers? ” 

A very tall, thin youth standing close by 
uttered this exclamation. 

“ Hello, John Hackett ! ” 

“ Hello ! Say, you fellows look like a 
minstrel show ! What’s happened ? ” 


21 


Winter Camp 

“ Didn’t you see us hauling out stuff from 
the president’s room, and helping to carry 
water ? ” 

“ My eye ! Were you in that — and Chubby, 
too?” 

“ Of course,” replied the stout boy. “ Look, 
fellows, there goes the water.” 

A swish and a hiss sounded, as a heavy 
stream suddenly poured upon the cupola. 
The flames slowly began to die down, and a 
great cheer arose from the crowd. 

“ Must be an awful mess inside,” observed 
Hackett, meditatively. “Isn’t it too bad?” 

“ Yes ! and it knocks us out of study for 
about two months,” replied Dave Brandon. 

“ Maybe they will get a hall somewhere,” 
suggested Tom Clifton. 

“ Oh, look ! ” cried Bob, suddenly. 

As he spoke, the half-burned timbers of the 
cupola collapsed and fell with a muffled roar. 
Then a huge puff of smoke rolled upward, 
accompanied by a fitful glare of red, while the 
voices of the crowd swelled into an excited 
murmur. 

The firemen on the roof struggled forward, 
turned the stream down into the opening, and 


22 The Rambler Club’s 

the last glimmer of light began to slowly 
fade. 

There was much excitement in the crowd, 
as this seemed to be the critical moment. 
The Rockville engine fairly roared and shook. 

“ IT1 bet it's under control/’ said Bob, at 
length. 

“ Yes, they’ve got it now, that’s sure,” ex- 
claimed Dick Travers. 

“ Thanks to the Rockville fire company,” 
added Sam. 

“Hope you’re not going home yet,” said 
Hackett. “ I wouldn’t mind staying out all 
night.” 

“ You wouldn’t catch me doing it,” declared 
Tommy Clifton decidedly. 

“ If the moon was up, I’d like to go skat- 
ing,” added Hackett, boastfully, “ and I 
wouldn’t sleep all day to-morrow, either.” 

“ I know what you mean,” said Dave, with 
a good-natured grin, “ and I suppose I ought 
to feel pretty badly about it.” 

“ I advise you to stop writing poetry,” con- 
tinued Hackett ; “ then you won’t need so 
much sleep.” 

“ But then I don’t write the kind that puts 


Winter Camp 23 

others to sleep,” laughed Brandon, “ and that 
ought to make the matter square.” 

“ In that case, you are forgiven,” exclaimed 
Sam Randall. 

“ How is Nat Wingate, ‘ Hatchet ’ ? ” asked 
Bob Somers, at this juncture. 

“ The doctor says he will have to keep out 
in the open air as much as possible,” replied 
Hackett. “ His lungs seem to be a little 
weak. Nat thinks of going to some lumber 
camp — and, by jingo ” 

“ What’s the matter? ” 

“An idea just struck me,” answered 
Hackett, “ and a fine one, too.” 

“ Let’s hear it.” 

“ Well, if the school is put out of commis- 
sion for a month or two, I might manage to 
go with him.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be a great idea for the whole 
of us to go?” spoke up Bob Somers, turning 
to the others. 

“ That’s the way to talk,” exclaimed John 
Hackett, enthusiastically. “We could camp 
in the wilds — hunt, fish and have no end of 
sport.” 

“ It would be mighty cold out there in the 


24 


The Rambler Club’s 

woods,” ventured Tom Clifton, the smallest 
member of the party, “ and the snow is ever 
so deep. Whew ! There’s twelve o’clock 
striking.” 

“ Let it strike ! Say, fellows, what do you 
think of this scheme ? ” 

“ Simply great ! But it all depends upon 
whether they can find a place for the school,” 
said Bob. 

“ There isn’t a hall large enough in this 
little town — you know that. Might use a 
barn, though,” grinned Hackett. “ Fine to 
see Professor Hopkins standing on a bale 
of hay and conducting the opening exer- 
cises.” 

“ Well, I’d like to go — but, and it’s a great 
big but,” sighed Dick Travers, “ my dad 
might not look upon it the way I do.” 

“ My fix, too,” added Tom. 

“ Guess we could arrange that all right,” 
said Bob, hopefully. “ I think my father will 
agree to it.” 

“ Anyway, we’ll have to talk over this 
again,” exclaimed Hackett. “ Nat would 
certainly be glad if you fellows could go. 
How about meeting in your barn, Somers ? ” 


Winter Camp 25 

“ Come over day after to-morrow, and bring 
Nat with you,” replied Bob. 

“ You can just bet I will,” said Hackett. 
“ My eye ! How I hope we can arrange it ! ” 

The Rockville steamer was still sending up 
a stream of sparks, but the excitement was 
now entirely over. The boys according^ 
took leave of each other, and set out for home. 


CHAPTER III 


OFF TO THE WOODS 

Early next morning the grounds about the 
high school were crowded with students. 
The building presented a sorry appearance, 
with its broken windows and smoke-begrimed 
walls. An odor of half-burned, water-soaked 
wood came from within. 

Bob Somers produced a copy of the Kings- 
wood “ Times,” and passed it around. The 
paper stated that the fire had been caused by 
an overheated furnace, and that the damage 
would amount to over five thousand dollars. 

Professor Hopkins approached a group, 
among whom were Dave Brandon and several 
other members of the Rambler Club. 

“ Isn’t this an unfortunate occurrence, 
boys? ” he said; “ I can scarcely believe that 
we all assembled here for study only yesterday 
morning. I want to thank you for your work 
last night.” 

“ I’m very glad that we were able to do 
26 


2 7 


Winter Camp 

some good,” said Dave. “ How long do you 
think it will take to repair the damage, 
professor? ” 

“ Months,” replied the president, with 
something like a groan. “ And I doubt 
whether we shall be able to find any place to 
hold the exercises.” 

Then, with a bow, he turned, and walked 
slowly away. 

Soon after this, the group broke up, and, at 
an appointed hour next day, met in the hay- 
loft of Mr. Somers’ barn. 

Peter Lexington’s ebony-hued countenance 
wore a broad grin, as the boys began to come 
in. Hackett and Nat Wingate arrived last. 

Nat seemed to have lost some of the dashing 
air which formerly characterized him. His 
face was pale and drawn, while his movements 
lacked their accustomed energy. 

“ Fellows, this is a great scheme you’ve 
gotten up,” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. 

“ Yes ! My father says it’s all right,” de- 
clared Bob Somers. 

“ And they haven’t been able to find a hall 
large enough,” added Hackett, with a grin. 
“ Professor Ivins told me so this afternoon.” 


28 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Anything else? ” queried Sam Randall. 

“ Yes, he said that classes could not be 
resumed for about two months. How about 
you, Dick Travers and Tom Clifton ? Think 
you’ll be able to go? ” 

Both boys cast grateful looks toward Bob 
Somers. 

“ It’s all right, Hacky,” said Travers, glee- 
fully. “ When Bob told my father about the 
trip, and how much Mr. Somers w T ould be 
pleased for the whole crowd to go, he con- 
sented.” 

“ The same here,” put in Tom Clifton, with 
a glowing face. 

“ And you, Chubby ? ” 

Dave Brandon laughed. “ I managed it 
easily,” he said. “ My folks have an idea 
that I don’t exercise enough, and they think 
a trip of this kind will be just the thing.” 

“ So it will be,” said Nat. “ You’re begin- 
ning to look like a fat boy in a five cent 
show.” 

“ Do you think there will be much work to 
do ? ” asked Dave, with pretended alarm. 

“ Well, rather — chopping wood, building 
camps, tramping twenty miles on hunting 


Winter Camp 29 

trips — oh, I guess you’ll find enough to keep 
you busy.” 

“ I ’clar’ to goodness, boys, yo’ll be froze,” 
said Peter Lexington. 

“ A little snow and ice doesn’t scare us, 
Peter,” rejoined Bob, smilingly. 

“ Talk about hunting,” put in Hackett, 
bringing a stick up to the level of his shoul- 
der and squinting one eye along it. “ I can 
hardly wait. Just let me get a crack at 
something — the bigger the better.” 

“ That’s the ticket,” chimed in Nat. “ It 
will beat a summer trip all hollow. Say, fel- 
lows, what will we need ? ” 

“ Help, befoah de voyage am over,” inter- 
rupted Peter, with a loud chuckle. 

“ Now don’t begin any croaking, Peter, or 
you’ll scare our little friend from going.” 

“ Indeed he won’t do anything of the kind,” 
retorted Tom Clifton, indignantly. 

“ We’ll need lots of stuff,” said Sam 
Randall ; “ tea, coffee, sugar, spices, flour, 
canned goods, potatoes, beans, molasses, bacon, 
blankets, skates, and snow-shoes.” 

“ We can pack the whole business on a 
couple of sleds,” observed Dick Travers ; 


3o 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ and send them by freight to some station 
near the backwoods. Got your map, Bob ? ” 

“ Sure.” 

In a short time, seven boys were bending 
over a map which Bob had spread out on a 
bale of hay. 

“ Stony Creek — that looks like a good 
place to start from,” said Bob, indicating a 
point with his forefinger. 

“ From there, we might hire a sleigh to 
take us to Mapleton,” put in Dave Brandon, 
with a yawn. 

“A good idea,” said Bob. “The whole 
thing is settled, fellows. Now when shall we 
start? ” 

“The sooner, the better,” declared John 
Hackett. “ Who’s going to buy the grub and 
other stuff? ” 

“ Draw lots,” suggested Dave Brandon, 
lazily. 

“Skip around, Peter, and find a piece of 
paper,” said Bob. “ We want to fix this thing 
up right away.” 

“ I can see my finish,” groaned Dick 
Travers, comically. 

The stable boy soon procured a piece of 


3i 


Winter Camp 

brown paper, which he tore in seven pieces. 
These were numbered consecutively and 
dropped in his cap. 

“ Shake ’em up, Peter,” said Bob. “ Fel- 
lows, the two who draw numbers three and 
five can consider that they have a job ahead 
of them.” 

The grinning Peter vigorously stirred up 
the bits of paper, then held his cap high over 
his head. 

There was an interval of silence, after 
which seven boys eagerly glanced at the 
papers they had drawn. 

“ Stung ! ” groaned Sam Randall, with a 
comical grimace. 

“ Same here ! I told you how it would be,” 
added Travers. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Peter Lexington. “ You 
fellahs certainly done got left — ha, ha ! ” 

“ Somebody make out a list,” said Dick, 
with a sigh of resignation, “ and we’ll attend 
to it.” 

Bob Somers got to work. In addition to 
the articles mentioned by Sam Randall, he 
added a few simple remedies, such as they 
had taken on their previous trip. 


32 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Now, you unfortunate chaps — hustle,” 
said John Hackett, with a broad grin. 
“ Don’t hang around here. Wow ! I’m 
thinking that by the time we get through, 
there’ll be a few less deer and wildcats to 
roam around, eh, Nat?” 

And the prospect of thinning out the 
animal kingdom made Hackett execute a few 
fancy steps around the hay-loft, much to the 
amusement of Peter Lexington. 

Sam Randall and Dick Travers set about 
their allotted tasks with vigor. Before night, 
everything needful, including three sleds, had 
been purchased, and was ready for shipment 
to Stony Creek, the nearest railroad station to 
the village of Mapleton. 

Some portions of the state of Wisconsin are 
wild and desolate, and the boys had selected 
a region where there was every likelihood of 
finding game in abundance. 

Thus, two days after their meeting in the 
barn, on a cold, clear day in the early part of 
January, seven boys, attired in suitable 
fashion to withstand the rigorous climate, 
met at the Kingswood railroad station. 
They presented a very formidable appearance, 


Winter Camp 33 

Bob Somers and John Hackett carrying re- 
peating rifles and the others shotguns. 

“ Did you get our stuff off* to Stony Creek 
all right, Steve ?” inquired Nat Wingate of 
the ticket agent. 

“ Sure thing ! Where are you fellows 
bound for now ? ” 

“ To the woods,” replied John Hackett ; 
“ and we are going to do some tall shooting.” 

“ You will, at any rate,” said the agent, 
with a grin, as he surveyed Hackett's long 
figure. “ When a wildcat comes over to say 
how-de-do, them legs of yourn ought to be 
mighty useful. Here comes number ten, 
right on the minute.” 

A whistle sounded, the train rounded a 
curve, and, in a few minutes more, the boys 
had clambered aboard. 

“ If anybody had told me about this last 
week, I wouldn't have believed it,” said Sam, 
in great glee, settling himself comfortably in 
a seat. “ Eh, Dave? ” 

The stout boy nodded, and closed his eyes. 

“ I'm going to make up now for all that hard 
work I did at the fire,” he said with a laugh. 

The train sped on, past snow-covered fields 


34 


The Rambler Club’s 


and rolling hills, over trestles, allowing mo- 
mentary glimpses of ice-bound creeks, or 
ravines, purple and gray in the morning 
shadows. 

At various towns, the train came to a halt. 
Several were manufacturing centres, where 
smoke rose lazily from chimneys, and jets of 
steam rivaled in their whiteness the dazzling 
snow. But the distances between these stop- 
ping places grew longer and longer, and when, 
at length, the conductor called out, “ Stony 
Creek,” the last town had been left miles 
behind. 

“ Wake up, Chubby ! ” cried Bob, giving 
the stout boy a vigorous shove. “ Here’s 
where we get off.” 

Dave stretched, yawned and rose to his feet 
just as the cars came to a stop. 

“ It doesn’t look as if we were anywhere,” 
he said. 

“ We’ll have to get up a searching party 
and try to find the town,” said Nat. 

When the boys stood on the platform and 
gazed after the fast receding train, they felt 
that they were already on the edge of the 
wilderness. 


35 


Winter Camp 

Beyond the small ticket office was a freight 
house, while a lone residence, with a veranda 
at the side, stood opposite the station. A road 
skirted the railway tracks, and from this two 
others branched off, winding their way between 
broad fields, patched here and there with dark, 
gaunt trees. 

“ Looks like the arctic regions,” said Nat. 

“ And feels like it, too,” observed Tommy 
Clifton, pulling his coat collar closer around 
his neck. “ Guess only birds live here.” 

“ We’ll have to rout somebody out and see 
about our stuff,” said Hackett. “ Hello, here 
he comes now.” 

A rather tall, spare man with a red, scraggly 
beard emerged from the ticket office and 
lazily ambled toward them. 

“ How d’y do, boys ! ” he said, with a broad 
grin. “ Be you looking for anybody who 
lives hereabouts ? ” 

“ Is that the town, Jack ? ” asked Nat 
Wingate, pointing to the house opposite. 

“Well! The idea! How did you guess 
my name?” exclaimed the station-master, 
with a look of pleased surprise. “ Reckon I 
never seen you before, neither.” 


36 


The Rambler Club’s 

“ We’re the bounding brotherhood of bril- 
liant guessers,” grinned Nat. “ Now, Jack, a 
few words with you ; we want to know if you 
have a lot of boxes and sleds for us.” 

This rapid flow of words quite bewildered 
the old man. He scratched his head. Then 
an idea seemed to dawn upon him. 

“ Be them yourn ? ” he said. “ A hull lot 
of stuff, an’ sleds, too? ” 

“ Now you’re talking, Jack, old boy,” said 
Hackett. “ Trot out your papers, Somers, and 
show him.” 

“ They’re all in the freight house. You 
boys a-going ter stay in town fer a spell, I 
reckon, ain’t yer ? ” 

“ Where is it ? ” asked Nat. 

“ Where ? ” 

The station-master paused. A look of ag- 
grieved surprise came over his rugged, honest 
face. 

“ Where ? ” he repeated, reproachfully. 
“ ’Tain’t fur.” He waved his arm in a wide 
circle. “ Over there. Bless me — the idea ! 
Sich a question.” 

“ Can we get something to eat around here? ” 
asked Dave Brandon. “ I’m almost starved.” 


37 


Winter Camp 

“ Over to Hiram Sladder’s, I reckon. 
Tain 7 1 more’n one o’clock, now. Going to 
stay in town long?” 

“ We’ll keep right on to Mapleton,” volun- 
teered Nat. “ How do we get there? ” 

“ To Mapleton, eh? Well, there’s two ways 
I know of, jest two of ’em.” 

“ How ? ” asked Nat. 

“ One of ’em’s walking, and the other’s 
riding,” replied “ Jack,” laconically. 

“ Ha, ha ! Bully for you,” roared Hackett. 
“ Wow — that’s a good one. ‘ Jack,’ you’re all 
right.” 

The station-master grinned, and looked at 
the boys with a mildly indulgent air. 

“ You certainly ain’t a-going camping out, 
air you? ” he asked. 

“ Of course we are,” answered Bob. “ But 
for that, we wouldn’t be carrying around these 
guns.” 

“ Jack ” shook his head. 

“ A risky business — a purty risky business 
fur boys, I call it. Why, there’s wolves ” 

“ And there’s a gun all ready for ’em,” in- 
terrupted John Hackett, holding up his rifle. 

“ An’ wildcats.” 


3 « 


The Rambler Club’s 

“ Well, we have some more guns.” 

“ An’ — an’ — well, I call it a purty risky 
business. However, ’tain’t none of my affair. 
Yonder right hand road takes yer to Slad- 
der’s.” 

“ Come on, fellows,” said Dave ; “ I’m 
hungry as a bear.” 

The stout boy jumped off the platform and 
began striding across the road. They toiled 
up a gentle incline, trudging in the middle 
of the highway. Once at the top, they saw a 
long descent. A flagpole was visible, rising 
above the crest of another hill. 

“ Where there’s a flagpole, there’s a house,” 
observed Hackett. 

His long steps soon put him in the lead. 

“ Oh, I say, hold on, ‘ Hatchet,’ ” puffed 
little Tommy Clifton ; “ this isn’t a race.” 

“You want to hurry and grow a bit, 
Tommy,” laughed John. 

At length they began the ascent of the hill. 
The ruts in the road made walking difficult, 
and all breathed a sigh of relief when they 
reached the top. As they did so, the peaked 
roof of a building came into view, rising 
higher and higher until the entire structure 


Winter Camp 39 

was visible. It proved to be a long, two-story 
building, painted a dingy gray. 

But what interested the boys most of all 
was an inscription across the front that read : 

Roadside House 
Hiram Sladder , Proprietor 
Accommodation for man and beast 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Bob. “ Now for some- 
thing to eat ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


“ UNDENIABLE FACT ” 

Before the boys could reach the entrance, 
the door was opened. A very big man, with 
a very red complexion and prominent fea- 
tures, stood surveying the group, his face 
wreathed in smiles. 

“Good-afternoon, young gentlemen ! ” he 
exclaimed, in a hearty voice. “ Step right 
in — a warm room and nice, comfortable 
chairs ready for you.” 

“ Can we get something to eat now ? ” 
asked Dave, with a touch of apprehension in 
his voice. 

“All you want, sir — an undeniable fact,” 
replied the hotel keeper ; “of the best, too 
— nice, hot coffee, roast beef, potatoes, — an’ 
what would you say to a few buckwheat 
cakes, with maple syrup ? ” 

“ Um — um — ah — but don’t say a few,” re- 
marked Dave. 


40 


4» 


Winter Camp 

“ An undeniable fact that they are just the 
thing for a cold day like this. Put your 
guns in the corner, boys. Mom ! ” 

Mr. Hiram Bladder’s stentorian voice soon 
brought a response. A pleasant-looking 
woman bustled into the room. 

“What’s this, Hiram, a meeting?” she 
asked, looking at the boys with a smile. 

“ Undeniable fact that it looks like it,” 
said Mr. Sladder. “ But these young gentle- 
men want something to eat, and want it 
quick. Is Tim around ? ” 

“ No, Hiram. He just went off with Billy 
Musgrove.” 

“ Too bad ! But never mind. Get out the 
best you have in the house.” 

The boys drew up chairs around the bright 
stove, and settled down to solid comfort, 
while Hiram Sladder perched himself on a 
stool of rather ancient appearance. 

“Strangers around these parts?” he re- 
marked, affably, his eyes roving from one to 
another. 

“ You’ve struck it,” said Hackett ; “ we’ve 
been trying to find out ever since we got here 
where the town is.” 


42 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ And why they call it Stony Creek,” added 
Tom Clifton. 

“ Well, just beyond the hill is as purty a 
little town as you want to see,” confided the 
hotel keeper ; “ and it’s an undeniable fact that 
the stoniest creek you ever laid your eyes upon 
flows close’t to Bill Manley’s blacksmith shop. 
Going to stay here long, young gentlemen ? ” 

“ No, we’re off on a hunting trip,” said 
Hackett, carelessly; “ after big game.” 

“ Sho ! Know much about gunning ? ” 
asked Mr. Sladder, incautiously. 

“ Do we know much about gunning ? ” 
echoed John, with withering sarcasm. “ Well, 
say — I’ve had a few tilts with wildcats, my- 
self, and I’m here yet.” 

“ Um — you can’t always tell by looks,” said 
Mr. Sladder, anxious to appease the tall 
youth’s ire. “ My son Tim — too bad he ain’t 
here — is a born hunter. The way that boy 
can shoot and trap ! Why, it’s an undeniable 
fact that there ain’t nobody in town can beat 
him. If the young gentlemen want a few 

good points where to go fur game ” 

“ Yes — that’s the idea ! ” cried Bob, en- 
thusiastically, drawing forth his map. 


Winter Camp 43 

Hiram Sladder spread it out on a near-by 
table. 

Surrounded by all save Dave Brandon, he 
placed a very broad finger on a spot indicating 
the position of Mapleton, then slowly passed 
it along the course of a river, and finally 
stopped at a lake. 

then he said : “ Thereabouts ! No better 

place in the state of Wisconsin.” 

“ Plenty of wildcats, and wolves, I hope,” 
said Hackett, with a sly glance toward Tom 
Clifton. 

“ Why bless you, you may get more’n you 
bargain for,” replied the hotel keeper. “ Now 
in my younger days ” 

“ Hiram, it’s ready ! An’ I guess the boys 
is too,” interrupted Mrs. Sladder, at this in- 
teresting point. 

The dining-room of the Roadside House 
was large and comfortable, and a bountiful 
meal had been prepared. From the kitchen 
came a delicious odor of buckwheat cakes, 
which caused a look of great satisfaction to 
come over Dave Brandon’s face. 

Mrs. Sladder regarded the remarkable 
manner in which the viands disappeared as a 


44 


The Rambler Club’s 


tribute to her culinary skill, and surveyed the 
boys with a benevolent smile. 

“ It’s an undeniable fact that the walking 
ain’t just what it might be,” said Mr. Sladder, 
who had entered the room. “Now, I’ve a 
sleigh ” 

“ Just the idea,” broke in Sam Randall, 
enthusiastically. “ Eh, fellows ? ” 

“ Then I’ll have it ready for you in a jiffy. 
I take it that you want to leave pretty soon. 
Mapleton’s a good fifteen miles.” 

The boys finished their meal, and sat 
around the table engaged in conversation 
until word was brought that the sleigh was 
ready. A moment later, the jingling of bells 
was heard, and it drew up to the front door. 

“ I’ll be mighty glad to see you again, boys, 
any time,” said Hiram Sladder, as the fellows 
clambered in. 

“ Get up, you Prince ! Hi, hi, you Bobby ! ” 
yelled the driver, cracking his whip, and the 
sleigh began to glide over the snow-covered 
ground. 

Upon reaching the freight house at the 
Stony Creek railroad station, “Jack” assisted 
the boys in loading the various boxes and 


45 


Winter Camp 

packages upon the sleigh. Some of their 
supplies had to be tied upon the sleds, which, 
in turn, were secured in such a fashion as to 
trail at the rear. 

“ Hope yer found the town,” remarked the 
station-master, dryly ; “ never had sich a 
question asked me before.” 

The boys laughed, and waved their hands, 
as the sleigh began to draw away from the 
platform. 

“ Hurrah! Now for the wilderness ! ” cried 
Sam Randall, enthusiastically. “ We can't 
get there too soon.” 

The driver again cracked his long, snake- 
like whip, and the sleigh-bells jingled merrily. 

Up and down hill, between dark, sombre 
woods, over bridges which spanned frozen 
streams, then past bleak, barren stretches of 
fields, dazzlingly white, they went, until the 
sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, and 
a yellow glow suffused the west. 

“ ’Tain’t fur now,” volunteered the driver — 
he pointed with his whip — “jest over that 
there hill. Drat that bay — the pesky brute’s 
a-stumbling — whoa, Prince — yes, jest over 
that next hill.” 


4 6 


The Rambler Club’s 

“ And it’s an ‘ undeniable fact ’ that I'll be 
glad to get there/' laughed Dick Travers. 

In the course of about fifteen minutes a 
house was passed, then another, and finally 
they saw a frame building somewhat larger 
than those around it. 

“The hotel/’ said the driver. 

This information was scarcely necessary, as 
a large sign in front announced to all that the 
Backwoods Hotel provided the best of ac- 
commodations for travelers. 

“ Hunting parties sometimes stop at Silas 
Riggs’ — he’s the boss,” explained the driver. 
“ A fust-rate fellow he is too.” 

He drew up to the entrance, and the boys 
jumped out, a trifle stiff after their long ride. 

Silas Riggs was “ right glad ” to see them. 
His son, a sturdy young specimen of human- 
ity, ambled forward and surveyed them with 
a frank, good-natured stare. 

Arrangements were quickly made for rooms 
and supper. 

Silas Riggs was a jolly old fellow, and told 
jolly stories — which was better, and the even- 
ing passed very quickly indeed. The boys 
were reluctant to leave the nice, cheerful 


47 


Winter Camp 

stove and pleasant room. The wind had 
sprung up, and, as it moaned and sighed 
around the corner of the “ Backwoods Hotel ,’ 7 
sending the old sign creaking forth and back, 
to mingle its dismal sound with the soughing 
of the tree-tops, it made the comfortable in- 
terior seem all the more agreeable. 

But the boys were anxious to get up early 
next morning, so they bade Silas Biggs and 
several of the guests a cheery good-night and 
repaired to their rooms. 

Immediately after breakfast, boxes and 
packages were opened. 

“ We ought to be well fixed, with all that 
stuff , 77 observed Dick Travers. 

“ Rubber blankets enough to start a store,” 
put in Sam. 

“ An 7 you’ll need 7 em,” drawled Silas, 
Junior. “ Cold — h 7 m ; an 7 jest wait till a 
blizzard gets a-going. An 7 — an 7 — but I don’t 
want to scare you fellers none . 77 

“ Don’t stop on our account, Silas, old boy,” 
laughed Nat ; “ we’re ready for anything that 
comes along.” 

Axes, hatchets, hunting-knives, guns and 
snow-shoes, besides provisions, were securely 


The Rambler Club’s 


48 

strapped to the sleds, and, at length, they 
were ready to leave. 

“ Old ” Silas gave them minute directions 
as to the best route to take, and other bits of 
helpful advice. 

“ On the eastern side of the lake, near the 
south end, you’ll find a cabin,” he said. 
“ ’Tain’t much to look at, but if nobody ain’t 
thar, it may save yer the trouble of building 
a camp. 

“ Good-bye, boys,” he added, grasping the 
hand of each in turn ; “ an’ don’t forgit to 
drop in an’ see ‘ Old ’ Silas when ye come back.” 

The air was clear and crisp, and the wind 
had greatly moderated. Before them was a 
short stretch of open country, and beyond, 
glistening in the early morning light, rose the 
rounded tops of several hills. 

Dick Travers, Sam Randall and Tom Clif- 
ton took the first turn with the sleds. 

“ How long is it going to take us to reach 
Lake Wolverine, Bob?” asked Tom Clifton. 

“ If we don’t get tangled up in the woods, 
we ought to get there some time this after- 
noon.” 

“ This snow makes hard walking,” grum- 


49 


Winter Camp 

bled Dave. “ Say, boys, I’ve got an idea. I 
think we’re a lot of duffers. What are snow- 
shoes made for, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, what are they made for, indeed ? ” 

“ I’m going to put mine on, anyway,” said 
Dave. 

“ And so am I,” added Hackett. 

Seven pairs of the long shoes were extracted 
from the piles on the sleds, and the boys 
began to strap them on. 

“ Oh, but it feels funny,” said Tom Clifton, 
as he stood upright. “ Wow I Don’t think 
I can manage to walk with them.” 

“ Strike out, like a little man,” said 
Hackett. “ Here goes ! ” 

He started off with great confidence, but 
the end of his shoe caught on the almost con- 
cealed edge of a stump, sending the long- 
legged youth floundering in the snow. 

“ Hi, hi ! You struck something sure, 
‘ Hatchet,’ ” exclaimed Tom, mischievously. 

Hackett’s face was very red, indeed, when 
he picked himself up. 

“ Talk about mean luck,” he growled. 
“ Quit your laughing, Tommy Clifton. Just 
watch me, I’ll do better this time.” 


5 ° 


The Rambler Club’s 


Hackett took the lead. Right after him 
came Dave Brandon, while Bob Somers and 
Nat Wingate trailed in the rear, all moving 
in an awkward fashion. But at length they 
mastered the new form of locomotion suffi- 
ciently well to make good progress. 

“ My eye ! look at that whopping big long- 
ears over there,” cried Hackett; “if I’d 
only had my gun in hand,” he added, regret- 
fully, as the bunny disappeared. 

“We are hunters brave and bold, 

And fear not wind or cold — 

When seeking game. 

Big birds look out, and small ones fly away ; 
Wise bears and wolves won’t join the fray — 

For Hacky’s after game.” 

Nat improvised these lines, his old-time 
spirit reasserting itself. 

“ Rah, rah — yi, yi — bing, bang, boom ! ” 
joined in Hackett, lustily. “ And I’m going 
to get some game, too. Don’t you forget it.” 

Soon a stretch of pine woods was reached. 
It grew thicker and thicker, until the blue 
sky was almost shut from view. Underbrush 
and trailing vines were in profusion. 

The wind had piled up great drifts of snow, 


Winter Camp 51 

and occasionally the heavy sleds had to be 
dragged around a fallen tree. 

From a dense thicket came the harsh, 
rasping cry of the blue jay, while a noisy flock 
of crows flitted among the trees. 

In places, the snow was covered with the 
tracks of animals and birds. 

il There have been dozens of rabbits around 
here,” asserted Bob. “ And look — sure as I 
live — the trail of a fox.” 

“A fox?” echoed the others. “ How do 
you know ? ” 

“ Because the footprints are almost in a 
straight line, and you can see the marks of 
the claws in front.” 

“ My eye ! I only wish I could get a shot 
at him,” burst out Hackett, looking eagerly 
around, as if he expected to see a dozen foxes 
running to cover. 

“ Thought nothing would satisfy you but a 
wildcat or deer, Hacky,” laughed Nat. 

“ A fox will do for a starter. After that, 
Tommy Clifton must help me rout out a big, 
black bear from his cave,” grinned John. 

“ Oh, I say, fellows,” broke in Dick Travers, 
“ somebody take this sled ; I’m fagged out.” 


5 * 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ So am I,” puffed Tom Clifton. 

“ And it’s the same here/’ added Sam. 

The three boys were relieved. 

Maple and hickory trees were now inter- 
spersed with the dark hemlocks and cedars, 
and the patches of sky between the trees grew 
larger. The woods were rapidly becoming 
more open. 

“ We ought to come to the river pretty soon, 
Somers,” observed Hackett, as they paused on 
a ridge which overlooked a steep descent. 

“ Unless we do, it may mean that ” 

The rest of the sentence was interrupted in 
a most startling fashion. 

The snow upon which they were standing 
suddenly gave way beneath their weight. 
With cries of dismay, Bob Somers, John 
Hackett and Dick Travers wildly grasped at 
the empty air. Then, before their astonished 
companions could make a move to aid them, 
they shot downward, accompanied by an 
avalanche of snow. 


CHAPTER V 


THE ROAD OF ICE 

The surface was smooth and icy, and the 
efforts of the boys to stay their progress were 
in vain. Huge masses of snow swept with 
them down the hill. Bob Somers felt the cold 
air rush past his face. He had a confused 
vision of bushes flying swiftly by, then he 
shot over the edge of a hillock, and dropped 
with a thud upon the other side. 

Breathless and excited, he made another 
effort to stop his downward plunge. For a 
moment, it was partially checked, but the 
tumbling snow almost instantly tore him away 
from his hold. 

Long John Hackett and Dick Travers were 
considerably in advance. Their startled cries 
had been silenced, and like Bob Somers, they 
were helpless upon the smooth, slippery sur- 
face of the hill. 

A long line of bushes stretched across just 
below. 


53 


54 


The Rambler Club’s 


John Hackett escaped them by a few feet, 
but Dick Travers crashed into their midst and 
came to an abrupt halt. 

A moment later, Bob brought up against 
him with an impact that made both wince. 

“I say, Dick, are you hurt?” he gasped, 
excitedly, as soon as he could find his voice. 

“ Whew, I’m too dizzy to know. You 
nearly knocked the last bit of breath out of 
me. My face is scratched to pieces.” 

“ And — wow — how my ear stings. I’m 
sore all over.” 

“ But we are mighty lucky to get off so 
easily,” said Dick. “ I wonder how old 
Hacky has fared.” 

“ I hope he’s all right. Say, my head spins 
like a top. Here come the rest of the fellows. 
I’ll bet they are scared.” 

Both boys rose slowly and painfully to their 
feet. They were much jarred and bruised, but, 
fortunately, no serious damage had resulted. 

“ Hello, Hacky ! ” yelled Bob. 

An answering hail came from below. 

“ He must be all right,” said Dick, joyfully. 
“ There he is — away down at the bottom of 
the hill.” 


55 


Winter Camp 

“ Are you hurt, fellows? " came a cry. 

The other boys were making their way 
down the smooth, treacherous surface as fast 
as they dared. 

“ Not a bit of it ! ” yelled Bob. “ Let's see 
about Hackett.” 

Without waiting for the others, he started 
down the incline, this time in an orderly 
fashion. Dick Travers followed him. 

They found the tall boy busily engaged in 
brushing the snow off his clothes. 

“ Are you hurt, Hacky?" inquired Dick, 
anxiously. 

“ If my arm doesn't turn black and blue, 
I'm mistaken," growled John. “ I got about 
eighty-seven jolts on the back of my neck, 
forty on the shoulders, and nearly broke my 
leg, besides. You fellows all right? That’s 
good. What dunces we were to stand on 
such a bank. Anyway, I found out some- 
thing." 

“ What’s that?" 

“ Don't you see there's a little creek close 
here? And it goes in our direction, too — eh, 
Somers ? " 

“ You're right," returned Bob, with a glance 


The Rambler Club’s 


J6 

in the direction indicated. “ Skating will be 
good for a change.” 

The rest of the boys now came up and were 
delighted to see that their friends were safe 
and sound. 

“ I move that we have something to eat,” 
said Dave. 

His proposition met with general favor, and 
three of the boys went after the sleds. In due 
course, they returned, and did full justice to 
the lunch which Silas Riggs had put up. It 
was rather cold fare, but all decided that it 
was better to push on as fast as possible. 

“ Somebody may be using that house 1 Old ’ 
Silas spoke about,” said Nat ; “ and, in that 
case, we’ll have to build a camp.” 

In a short time the march was re- 
sumed. 

The creek was found to be narrow and 
winding, but the wind had blown its surface 
comparatively free from snow. 

“ Now we’ll make some speed,” said Sam, 
as he unstrapped his snow-shoes. “ Look out 
for air holes and thin places, fellows.” 

The crisp whirr of seven pairs of skates was 
soon ringing out, and the three victims of 


Winter Camp 57 

the snowslide almost forgot their aches and 
pains in the enjoyment of the sport. 

“Great, isn’t it?” grinned Hackett, cut- 
ting a letter S. “ Anybody want to 
race ? ” 

“ Not to-day, my boy,” said Bob. “ Guess 
you’ve got us there.” 

Grim, dark trees hung over the water- 
course, their interlacing branches covered 
with snow. Occasionally, boughs, still full 
of dull yellow leaves — like a touch of autumn 
in the bleak winter landscape, added bright- 
ness to the scene. 

“ Must be lots of minks, otter and beavers 
along these banks,” declared Bob. “ They 
live in just this kind of place.” 

“ We’ll make old Sladder open his eyes 
when we get back with a load of skins,” ex- 
claimed John Hackett. “ The cheek of him 
to ask if we knew anything about hunting. 
Bang ! I can hardly wait.” 

“ The wildcats are going to catch it, fellows,” 
drawled Tommy Clifton. 

“ Right you are, little boy,” grinned 
Hackett. “ And don’t forget that bear you’re 
going to help me find.” 


58 


The Rambler Club’s 


Nat began to show signs of fatigue, and 
soon a halt was made. 

“ Maybe we had better not try to reach the 
lake to-night,” said Bob. 

“ Oh, pshaw ! I can stand it, Somers,” re- 
turned Nat. “ A few minutes’ rest will fix 
me up all right.” 

Suddenly a shout from Hackett, who had 
gone on ahead, attracted their attention. He 
had disappeared around a bend, but now came 
skating back. • 

“ The river’s just ahead, fellows,” he cried. 
“ Anything the matter, Nat ? ” 

“ No, I feel first-rate,” returned Nat, rising to 
his feet. “ Fellows, I believe this trip will fix 
me up all right.” 

“ Of course it will,” said Hackett, enthusi- 
astically. “ Say — we ought to reach Lake 
Wolverine pretty soon, now.” 

“ I hope so — I’m half frozen,” put in Tom 
Clifton ; “ a big fire and some hot coffee ” 

“ Um — um ! ” interrupted Dave Brandon ; 
“ and a pan of nice bacon, and baked potatoes, 
eh?” 

“ I can’t listen to such talk and sit still,” 
laughed Nat. “ I believe it’s getting colder,” 


Winter Camp 59 

he added. “ Well feel it more on the river, 
too.” 

The mouth of the creek was soon reached, 
and with long, steady strides, the boys pushed 
on. Occasionally they insisted upon stop- 
ping to give Nat a rest, and it was not until 
after two o’clock that the sight of a broad ex- 
panse, gleaming in the sunlight straight 
ahead, brought forth a rousing cheer. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Bob Somers, “ Lake 
Wolverine.” 

“ Now for the cabin that old Riggs told us 
about,” cried Nat. 

They redoubled their exertions, skating 
close to the eastern shore. All were delighted 
with the surroundings of the lake. There was 
a picturesque combination of rugged hills and 
valleys, and they felt that in such a wild 
country plenty of game must be found. 

“ There’s the cabin — straight ahead,” cried 
Bob. “ Look, Chubby, right in front of those 
firs!” 

“ You are right, Bob! And it’s a sight I’m 
glad to see. Hurry up.” 

The stout boy and John Hackett started 
ahead in a lively fashion. 


6o 


The Rambler Club’s 

“ Go it, Chubby 1 ” yelled Bob. “ Show 
him what you are made of 1 " 

Dave needed no bidding. Bending for- 
ward, he skimmed swiftly over the ice, and 
when they came opposite the cabin Hackett 
led by only a few feet. 

“ Whew ! " puffed Dave. “ It warms a 
fellow up a bit. That's a pretty solid-looking 
house, ‘ Hatchet.' " 

The cabin was built of logs and stood some 
distance from the edge of the lake, and near 
the base of a steep hill. It was partly sur- 
rounded by a group of tall cedars. 

Dave and Hackett crossed the intervening 
patch of snow, their skates crunching through 
the hard crust. The latter tried the door, 
while Dave peered in through a window. 

He uttered an exclamation of disappoint- 
ment. 

“ Somebody is living here," he said. 
“ There’s a lot of dishes and stuff on a table. 
It means that we'll have to build a camp, 
after all." 

“ And it would have been such a bully 
place to stay," said Hackett, giving the door 
a spiteful kick. 


Winter Camp 61 

“ Well, there’s no help for it,” put in Bob, 
who had come up. “ You can see the snow 
is freshly trampled.” 

“ Wonder who they can be.” 

“ Most likely hunters.” 

“ Well, what are we going to do?” asked 
Sam Randall. 

“ Why, cross the lake, of course — if Nat 
doesn’t mind.” 

“ Oh, I’m not tired out yet, Somers,” pro- 
tested Nat. “ Certainly we’ll get over on the 
other side, and have a camp to ourselves, eh, 
Hacky?” 

“ Right you are ! Face about — forward 
march ! ” 

“ It’s time you exercised your muscle again 
on one of these sleds, Hackett,” complained 
Dick Travers. 

“ Oh, I forgot ! Really, my little tired-out 
friend, I forgot,” grinned Hackett, seizing the 
rope. 

“ I don’t call this any picnic,” observed 
Sam, as they headed for the opposite shore. 

“ Nor I, either,” said Tom. “ We get the 
full force of the wind — cracky, my feet are 
getting like lumps of ice.” 


62 


The Rambler Club’s 

In spite of their hard traveling, the boys 
kept up a good pace, and soon the opposite 
shore began to assume definite form. It was 
hilly and well wooded. 

“ We had better divide up in two parties,” 
suggested Bob; “we ought to strike a place 
quicker that way.” 

“ All right,” said Dick. “ Come on, Bob 
and Chubby ; let’s see what we can find.” 

Skates were quickly removed, the sleds 
drawn up on shore and the two parties set 
out. 

Bob, Dick Travers and Dave Brandon kept 
in a southerly direction, while the others 
pushed north. 

“ Any number of good places around here,” 
exclaimed the stout boy, after a short search. 
“ There’s one, right by that clump of pines.” 

“ Hello — hello ! ” came a faint hail from 
the distance. 

“ It’s Hackett,” said Dave, as they turned 
and saw a dark figure on the edge of the lake 
waving his arms. 

“ They must have found a good place.” 

“ Hello ! ” yelled the distant figure again. 
“ Dandy place.” 


Winter Camp 63 

This was all they could make out, but it 
was enough. 

The three boys hurried forward. 

In the course of a few minutes, hauling the 
sleds after them, they rejoined the others. 

“ We’ll show you a dandy place,” cried 
Nat ; “ the finest you ever saw.” 

He led them around a wooded ridge, where 
they found, between this and another ridge, a 
bowl-shaped valley. On one side, the hill 
sloped gently down to the shore of the lake. 

“ Isn’t this a place for you, though?” 
asked Nat. 

“ You were lucky to come across it,” de- 
clared Bob ; “ and it’s sheltered from the 
northwest wind.” 

“ Plenty of trees — maples and spruce — just 
the thing for our camp.” 

“ And no fear of a snowslide,” put in Dave ; 
“ the hill isn’t steep enough for that. There’s 
only one thing ” 

“ What is that, Chubby?” 

“ A thaw might make it unpleasant.” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! ” said Hackett. “ Why, it’s 
getting colder — twice as cold every other min- 
ute. Let’s fall to, fellows, and build a fire.” 


6 4 


The Rambler Club’s 


Several of the boys unpacked a box of 
provisions, while Sam Randall, Tom Clifton 
and Dick Travers began to collect fire-wood. 
Armed with hatchets, they quickly got 
enough to start a blaze. 

As the flames began to roar and crackle, 
more wood was piled on, and the hungry and 
tired boys gathered around to warm their 
benumbed hands and feet. 

“ I’m going to have a cup of coffee,” said 
Dave. 

“ That’s the idea, Chubby.” 

“ And why not roast some potatoes ? ” 

“ And what’s the matter with a bit of 
bacon ? ” 

“ Right you are, boys ! Let’s get to work,” 
said Bob. 

Hunger spurred them on. In a few 
minutes, potatoes were roasting, and bacon 
hissing and sizzling before the fire. 

Hackett went off with an axe, chopped a 
hole through the ice and dipped up enough 
water for the coffee. 

When the meal was ready, the boys eagerly 
helped themselves, then took places around 
the cheerful fire and were content. 


CHAPTER VI 


MAKING CAMP 

“ We have a big job ahead of us,” declared 
Bob Somers, when every scrap of food had 
vanished. 

“ I believe it,” said Dave, with half closed 
eyes. 

“ The huts ought to be built before dark ; 
it means a hustle.” 

“ Build 'em, then, an' ” the stout boy 

was nodding. 

“ Hi, hi ! Hey, bing, bang, boom — rah — 
rah ! No sleeping yet, Chubby. Wake up ! ” 

“ Let a fellow alone, can't you ? Build 
em — stop ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, we will leave you alone ! Oh, 
yes — and two huts to build.” 

“ Only five minutes,” pleaded Dave. “ I 
feel uncommonly sleepy. I do, indeed ! Let 
up, won't you ? ” 

“ Very sorry, old boy,” said Bob ; “ but we 
are going to clear away the fire and build it in 
65 


66 


The Rambler Club’s 

another place. Better wake up and help in 
this job, or we may have a pretty rough night 
of it.” 

With a very great effort, Dave Brandon 
arose. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, 
with a prodigious yawn. 

“ Get the fire shoved over to this place 
I have marked,” said Bob, indicating a spot 
about ten feet distant. “Just as soon as 
the ground is thawed, we'll have to dig four 
holes for the corner posts.” 

“ Just think, we've got two of these old dens 
to build,” grumbled John Hackett. 

“ Oh, never mind,” said Nat. “ I'm going 
to help, and we’ll consider that it's a fine 
evening of sport.” 

Encouraged by these words, the tired boys 
set to work. 

“ In the first place, we'll need a lot of 
slender maples for the sides and roof,” said 
Bob ; “ and any quantity of fir brush.” 

“ I’m going to select trees for the posts,” 
declared Sam Randall. “ These huts are 
going to be built in a hurry, I can tell you that.” 

In a few moments, the sound of the young 


Winter Camp 67 

woodsmen’s sturdy blows were being carried 
over the frosty air. As fast as the trees were 
felled, Tom Clifton trimmed off the branches. 
Then Dick Travers and Sam Randall began 
to gather the fir brush until an enormous 
pile was ready for use. 

All hands worked steadily, in spite of their 
fatigue. 

“ On a camping trip, a fellow can’t expect 
to stop just because he’s tired,” declared Bob ; 
“ he must be willing to work hard and run 
up against all kind of snags.” 

“ You bet ! ” agreed Sam ; “ and getting 
half frozen, on a winter trip, and half starved 
besides.” 

“ Guess we’ve got enough work to last till 
midnight,” observed Dave Brandon, cheer- 
fully. 

“Is that ground getting thawed out?” 
inquired Bob. 

“ It’s ready for anybody except the poet 
laureate to begin digging,” laughed the other. 
“ Start right in, Sam Randall, or it will get 
frozen up again.” 

“ It’s not going to be an easy job,” said Bob. 
“ We’ll all take turns.” 


68 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ And we don’t want the huts to get bowled 
over by the first puff of wind,” added Tommy 
Clifton. 

“ That’s so, little one,” said John Hackett, 
patronizingly ; “ I’ll bet we strike some of the 
worst gales that were ever heard of. It’s get- 
ting pretty brisk now, and we may be out in 
it until about three o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing. Give me a spade, and I’ll show you 
something fast in the way of digging.” 

Hackett found that he was going to have a 
hard task to live up to his boast, but he stuck 
bravely at it, assisted by Bob Somers and Sam 
Randall. 

“What comes next, Bob?” asked Tommy 
Clifton. 

“ I’ll show you. First, I want four stout 
poles for the corners.” 

Bob Somers selected the heaviest maples, 
which had been cut to a suitable length. 
They were solid and heavy, and required the 
combined strength of several boys to lift into 
place. 

“ Ram them down as hard as possible,” said 
Bob. “ Then fill up the hole and bank them 
all around. Wet the earth as you pack it in. 


Winter Camp 69 

When it gets hard, it ought to hold like a 
vise.” 

“ Well, it’s going to hold that one, I can 
tell you,” declared Sam Randall, as they 
lifted the first pole, and brought it down with 
a bang. 

Hackett began to throw in the earth. 
“ But it’s fierce work, though,” he grumbled ; 
“ and a lot more to do.” 

Bob laughed. “ Stick it out, Hacky,” he 
said ; “ you’ll forget all about the backache by 
this time next week.” 

“ It would be better to leave the other hut 
until to-morrow,” suggested Nat. “ We can 
all crowd into one — it’s only for a night, you 
know.” 

“ I guess that’s the best plan.” 

“ Won’t it be awful cold in there, Bob ? ” 
asked Tom Clifton. 

“ Not when it’s banked up with snow. 
The hardest part of the work is yet to come.” 

“ You mean putting on the fir brush,” 
spoke up Tom Clifton. “ Oh, that’s easy 
enough.” 

“ Time to talk about that when the frame- 
work is up,” said John Hackett, with a laugh. 


70 The Rambler Club’s 

“ Don’t make a mistake and put the brush on 
first.” 

When the four posts had been planted, the 
rear ones being higher, so as to give the roof 
a slope, others were placed across the tops and 
securely fastened. This was done by means 
of nails and ropes. 

“ So much for that,” said Bob, in a tone of 
satisfaction. “ Now, a lot of poles must be 
placed about a foot apart all around the sides 
and on the roof. Pitch in, fellows — stick ’em 
up, and be sure to leave space enough for a 
door.” 

When the framework was completed, Bob 
and his assistants surveyed their handiwork 
with pride. 

“ Fir brush lies pretty flat,” said Bob, at 
length. “ Begin at the bottom, boys, and 
weave it between the poles. Then push it 
down as tight as possible.” 

“ Correct,” said Hackett. “ Go up front.” 

The boys worked rapidly, packing the 
brush so closely that not a crevice was visible. 
It required patience, but the knowledge that 
it would be their only shelter for the night 
spurred them on. When the four walls were 


Winter Camp 71 

completed, they presented quite a substantial 
appearance. 

“ Looks great/’ commented Bob. “ We’ll 
have a fine camp. Better get some more 
brush ; it takes a lot of it.” 

Dick Travers and Tom Clifton volunteered 
for the task, and work was resumed. Sam 
Randall and Hackett began to brace the 
sides with stout poles, and when this was 
done, they proceeded to bank the snow all 
around, beating it down with the backs of 
their shovels until it formed a compact 
mass. 

Bob Somers and Nat, who insisted on help- 
ing, got on the roof, while Dave Brandon 
kept them well supplied with fir brush. The 
two worked with great care, beginning at the 
front, and being sure that each lot they put 
on overlapped that which was underneath. 

“ It will be a good, tight roof, Nat,” re- 
marked Bob, with satisfaction. 

“ And the snow around the sides ought to 
make it warm as toast.” 

“ Rather have this than a ready made 
cabin any day — or night, either,” grinned 
Nat. “ There, Somers — when we make the 


7 2 


The Rambler Club’s 


roof a bit snug where it joins the wall, our 
work is done.” 

“ And a good job, too,” commented Dave 
Brandon from below. 

All now began to assist in piling up the 
snow, notwithstanding the gathering gloom. 
But the twilight, ere long, had almost given 
way to darkness. The opposite shore of the 
lake was lost to view, while toward the west a 
sombre hillside rose against a greenish gray 
sky. 

“ Too dark to see,” sang out Dick Travers, 
finally. 

“ We’ll have supper, and put on a few finish- 
ing touches by firelight,” said Bob. 

“ That’s where you’re right — no more work 
for me, until I get something to eat,” added 
Dave. “ It’s another ‘ undeniable fact.’ ” 

Fuel was heaped upon the fire, and cooking 
begun. Higher and higher rose the flames, 
lighting up in a fantastic fashion the group 
of boys, the snowy landscape and queer- 
looking hut in the foreground. Shadows 
danced and chased each other over the ground, 
light gleamed for an instant on distant ob- 
jects, then vanished to sparkle again elsewhere. 


73 


Winter Camp 

Refreshed by supper, the boys piled several 
logs on the fire and resumed work, adding 
whatever they thought necessary to make 
their dwelling secure and tight. The door 
was closed by strips of heavy canvas. 

“ This is a neat job, Hacky,” said Nat. 
“ Don’t know just what kind of architecture 
you’d call it — never saw anything quite so 
queer-looking in my life — but I’ll bet it is 
going to be comfortable, and that’s all we 
want.” 

It was not until after nine o’clock that the 
weary workers ceased their labors. But, 
despite aching arms and tired backs, each re- 
garded the odd-shaped structure with much 
satisfaction. 

“ It would take one of Silas Riggs’ blizzards 
to blow it over,” remarked Sam Randall. 

“ And two of them to wake me up, to- 
night,” yawned Dave. 

“ Let’s throw a bit of brush inside, spread 
out blankets and turn in,” said John Hackett. 

“ Tired out, Hacky ? ” laughed Nat. 

“Of course not — nowhere near it. I’ll bet 
I could give any fellow in the crowd fifty 
feet start and beat him across the lake,” and 


74 


The Rambler Club’s 

Hackett’s eyes sparkled with indignation at 
the thought of his endurance having been 
questioned. 

The boys hung a lantern from the ceiling, 
and as the light revealed the cozy interior, 
broke into a hearty cheer. 

“Not many could beat this job,” declared 
Bob Somers ; “ eh, Chubby ?” 

“ Say — but I am tired,” was Dave’s response. 
“ Good thing we have sleeping-bags and 
plenty of blankets. Going to be a tight 
squeeze, though,” he added. 

“ You take one-half of the hut, and the rest 
of us the other,” said Bob, humorously. 
“ Here’s my place, right where I’m standing.” 

Rubber blankets were spread over the 
fragrant fir brush, the sleeping-bags were put 
on those, and one by one, the boys lay down. 
Soon there was silence, save for the fire, the 
glowing embers of which occasionally cracked 
with a sharp report. 

But it was not for long. Bob sat up. 

“ Wow — say, fellows, I’m nearly frozen. 
Got a trunk load of blankets on, too.” 

“ And I can’t sleep for the cold, either,” 
groaned Dave. 


75 


Winter Camp 

“ It feels like the arctic regions,” said Tom 
Clifton, in muffled tones. “ My feet are like 
lumps of ice.” 

“ And I’m nearly frozen,” growled Hackett. 
“ How about you, Nat? ” 

“ Feel like a snow man — and that’s no joke.” 

“ Perhaps we’ll get warm in a few minutes. 
Let’s try it again,” put in Sam. 

The boys lay very still, and silence again 
reigned. 

“ Fellows, it’s no use.” Dave leaned on his 
elbow. “ I — I can’t sleep.” His teeth were 
chattering. 

“ Nor I.” 

“ What are we going to do? We haven’t 
any more blankets.” 

“ Yes — what are we going to do ? ” 

Little Tom Clifton’s voice was so despairing 
that the other boys broke into a hearty laugh. 

“ I think I know what’s the matter,” said 
Bob, suddenly. “ We’re a lot of dunces.” 

“ Why — how ? ” 

“ The cold strikes up from the ground. No 
matter how much stuff we pile on top of us, 
we couldn’t get warm. The brush beds ought 
to be about three times as thick.” 


7 6 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ I believe you are right. I do hate to 
think of getting up — still — guess there’s no 
help for it,” and Dave, with many groans and 
sighs, eased himself to his feet, the others 
following. 

The air outside was sharp and piercing, the 
stars shone with great brilliancy, and the 
landscape wore a dreary, desolate appearance. 

With chattering teeth, the boys approached 
the big pile of fir brush which had been left 
over, and began to gather it up. Trip after 
trip they made, working swiftly, and occasion- 
ally stopping to swing their arms. 

“ That ought to do,” said Bob, when the 
floor had been covered to a depth of a foot and 
a half. 

“ It will have to do.” 

“Will I ever be warm again? ” sighed Tom 
Clifton. 

They resumed their places, and again there 
was silence. 

This time, their repose was not broken until 
the cheerful rays of the morning sun flooded 
the landscape. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE FIRST HUNT 

“ Hi — hi — hey ! It’s half-past nine ; wake 
up ! Hi— hi ! ” 

Rob Somers uttered these words in a manner 
which made his companions hastily sit up. 

“ What’s the use of making such an awful 
racket, Bob ? I feel uncommonly sleepy,” 
and the stout boy immediately sank back and 
closed his eyes. 

Little Tom Clifton, however, hastily jumped 
to his feet. 

“ Had a dandy night, after all,” he said, 
cheerfully. “ Whew, but it’s cold,” he added, 
drawing back the canvas flap and peering 
out. “ Those chaps are still asleep.” 

“ Let’s stir around and get the fire going, 
anyway,” said Bob. “ I’m more than ready 
for breakfast.” 

The fire-wood was almost expended, so the 
two boys got vigorously to work. The sound 
of their hatchets soon aroused the other oc- 
77 


78 The Rambler Club’s 

cupants of the hut, who had gone to sleep 
again. 

“ Hello,” said Nat. “ I thought it was still 
last night.” 

“You mean to-morrow morning,” put in 
Hackett. “ My eye, it’s nearly ten o’clock. 
Make that lire howl — will you, Somers? I 
hate to think of getting up.” 

“ So do I,” grinned Nat. 

“ You fellows talk so much I can’t sleep,” 
grumbled Dave. 

“It’s ten o’clock! Did you catch that ? — 
t-e-n o’clock ! ” 

“ Wouldn’t care if it was twelve,” and Dave 
snuggled under the covers again. 

In a short time, all but the stout boy had 
gathered around the fire, and it was not until 
another half hour had passed that he appeared, 
blinking and yawning. 

“ Thought you fellows might eat all the 
breakfast,” he said. 

“ I’m sorry we didn’t — so as to teach you a 
lesson,” returned Bob. 

When the meal was over, all hands set to 
work on the second hut, and when lunch time 
arrived, it was well under way. 


79 


Winter Camp 

In the early afternoon, Bob Somers, accom- 
panied by Sam and Dick, set off. They 
ascended the hill, which was thickly wooded, 
making their way around the underbrush and 
huge snow-drifts. 

At the top, they paused to look around. A 
succession of rolling hills stretched off to the 
limits of view. In the grip of the snow 
king, the country looked barren and wild. 
Here and there a tree higher than its neigh- 
bors outlined its black, gaunt limbs against 
the sky. 

“ Looks kind of desolate, eh ? ” remarked 
Bob, as they began descending a gentle incline. 

“ Don’t make much noise, fellows,” he 
cautioned, “ or we’ll scare the rabbits away.” 

“ We ought to strike bigger game than that,” 
said Sam ; “ and there’s a hawk on the hunt 
for something, too.” 

He waved his hand toward a bird soaring 
far above. 

Soon the base of the hill was reached, and 
they kept on through a thickly timbered 
valley. 

“ Rabbit tracks everywhere, yet we haven’t 
had a glimpse of one,” said Bob. 


8o 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ It only needs a little patience. A good 
hunter always has that.” 

“Hello, there goes a rabbit!” sang out 
Dick, suddenly. 

From behind a mass of bushes the animal 
leaped, then over a fallen tree to an open 
stretch, across which it dashed. 

Dick quickly raised his gun. A sharp 
report rang out, and the rabbit fell in its 
tracks. 

“ Hurrah ! ” shouted Dick. “ Not bad for 
the first crack.” 

Bang — bang ! 

Bob Somers and Sam Randall had fired 
almost simultaneously. 

Another long-eared bunny fell a victim to 
their aim, while a third dashed off and disap- 
peared in the bushes. 

“ And whopping big fellows, too,” said 
Dick, enthusiastically, as he picked one up 
and held it aloft. “ ‘ Hatchet 1 brags so much 
about his shooting. Hell find that he isn't 
the only one.” 

A quarter of an hour more found the boys 
again ascending. Here and there, the ground 
was strewn with boulders of enormous size. 


Winter Camp 81 

Above them the rugged line of the hill was 
silhouetted against the clear blue sky. 

As they toiled slowly up, a most unex- 
pected and astonishing sight suddenly met 
the boys’ gaze. It set their nerves tingling 
with excitement. 

Not a hundred feet distant, at the top of 
the hill, there appeared a magnificent buck. 
For an instant, his dark, graceful form and 
spreading antlers were clearly defined. His 
head swung quickly around, then he wheeled 
about, and vanished on the other side before 
the surprised hunters could make a move. 

“ Did you ever see such a beauty ? ” ex- 
claimed Dick, in great excitement. 

“ Let’s make a sprint for it.” 

“ If we could only get a shot at him,” said 
Sam, longingly. 

In headlong pursuit, at a speed which 
would have seemed impossible a few mo- 
ments before, they dashed up the slope. 
Strategy, for the moment, was forgotten. 

Breathing hard, the boys reached the place 
where the buck had been. 

“ Look at his tracks, fellows ! ” cried Bob. 
“ He went off right toward those woods.” 


82 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ We may get a shot at him yet.” 

“ Don’t believe there’s any chance of it.” 

“ Come on, anyway ! ” exclaimed Sam Ran- 
dall. 

The boys had no difficulty in following the 
tracks, but the sad realization that their ef- 
forts would lead to nothing soon forced itself 
upon them. 

“ I can’t keep up this gait,” gasped Sam, 
his tones evincing the greatest disappointment. 

“ Neither can I,” said Bob. 

“ It’s a little worse than missing a train,” 
added Dick, dolefully. 

“ I should say so. Shall we keep up the 
chase? ” 

“ If he has taken to the open, we might get 
a sight of him,” replied Bob ; “ that is in 
the distance.” 

So the boys pushed on, the trail leading in 
and out among the trees. The woods grew 
more dense, and as there were no signs of its 
coming to an end, a halt was soon made. 

“ Have to leave it for another time, fel- 
lows,” said Bob. “ Wait until we get to hunt- 
ing in earnest.” 

“ A good rabbit stew just now would be 


Winter Camp 83 

better than a wild buck chase,” grinned Sam, 
who had recovered from his disappointment. 
“ Let’s hurry back and start some cook- 
ing.” 

They had wandered further from camp 
than any had imagined, and all three were 
thoroughly tired and cold when the gray ex- 
panse of lake appeared in view. It was 
reached at a point much above their camping 
ground, and a long, weary walk ensued. The 
wind, too, had sprung up and blew in their 
faces with unpleasant force. 

At length the boys rounded a hill and 
came in view of the camp. 

“ Hello ! ” said Bob. “ It’s deserted — fel- 
lows must be off on a hunt.” 

“ Guess they’re not very far away,” put in 
Sam, as he slung his game-bag down in front 
of the hut. 

“ Say — somebody has been amusing him- 
self,” remarked Sam Randall, rather abruptly, 
pointing toward the base of the hill. 

On the perfectly smooth blanket of snow, 
the bo}^s saw a number of markings of such 
odd forms as to suggest Egyptian hiero- 
glyphics. 


8 4 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Perhaps Nat made them/’ observed Bob, 
breaking into a laugh. 

The group walked toward the queer char- 
acters. 

“ Whoever did these must have puzzled his 
head trying to think up funny shapes,” put 
in Sam, with a grin. “ We’ll find out who’s 
responsible when the fellows get back.” 

The Ramblers had supper under way, when 
voices and the sound of feet crunching over 
the snow announced the return of the others. 

“ Any luck ? ” queried Bob. “ We got a 
couple of rabbits.” 

“ And I dropped a partridge,” said Hackett, 
proudly exhibiting the bird. “ A mighty 
hard shot it was, too.” 

“ What did you get, Chubby ? ” 

“ Cold hands, cold feet, and an awful appe- 
tite.” 

“ Hello, who’s been scratching up the 
snow ? ” exclaimed Nat. “ Did you do that, 
Somers ? ” 

“ No! We thought it was your work, Nat.” 

Nat grinned. “ Don’t try to tell me any- 
thing like that,” he said. “They weren’t 
there when we left camp.” 


Winter Camp 85 

“ That’s a sure thing,” broke in Tom Clif- 
ton, earnestly. 

“ Honest, Bob — none of us were near that 
snow.” 

“ Well, we didn’t do it either ; ” and Bob 
spoke in such a tone as to leave no doubt of 
his sincerity. 

“ Who did it, then ? ” 

There was an interval of silence, which 
John Hackett broke by remarking, ‘‘Those 
people across the lake may have come over 
and finding no one here thought they would 
amuse themselves a bit.” 

This seemed a perfectly reasonable solution 
of the matter, so the boys dismissed it from 
further consideration. 

Twilight came, then night enveloped the 
scene. A moderate breeze fanned the fire, 
until huge, leaping tongues of flame sent out 
a glow of heat. 

But even under these conditions it was not 
easy to keep warm. The boys stood with 
their backs to the fire, then faced it, then 
turned sideways, but always with that un- 
comfortable feeling of being roasted on one 
side, and, oh, so cold on the other. 


86 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Never thought I had a chance to get that 
bird,” Hackett was saying. “ It was making 
a bee-line for the woods — you know how fast 
they fly — well, I just raised my gun, 
and ” 

He was interrupted in a most startling 
fashion. 

A snowball — nothing more or less than a 
nice, round snowball — made in the most ap- 
proved schoolboy fashion, suddenly flew 
from out of the darkness and fell in their 
midst. It struck the ground and broke into 
a dozen fragments. 

Then came another — and another. The 
coffee-pot, struck squarely in the centre, 
toppled over into the fire and poured forth its 
lamentations in a great cloud of hissing 
steam, while the boys looked at each other in 
the greatest wonder. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE GUARDIANS 

“Why, what, which ” cried Hackett, 

looking wildly in the direction from which 
the missiles came. “ Must be those fellows 
again.” 

“ We’ll show them they can’t frighten us! ” 
burst out Bob. 

Just as he spoke, a ball of the feathery 
particles sizzled through the air, struck him 
forcibly on the shoulder, and splattered in 
his face. 

“ Just a bit of a lark, I guess ! ” cried Bob, 
“ but it shouldn’t be so one-sided. Come on, 
fellows ! ” 

With one accord, they dashed through the 
snow, which, though the night was dark, 
could be plainly seen. In a moment, they 
reached the base of the hill, and rounded the 
other side. 

Nothing there — but a wild expanse of 
nature, melting into gloom, gaunt trees and 
87 


88 


The Rambler Club’s 

underbrush — nothing but night and an icy 
wind sighing through the tree-tops and mak- 
ing the bushes shiver and rattle. 

“ My eye ! This is funny/' cried Hackett, 
scratching his head. 

“ Christopher ! It's the strangest yet,” 
panted Nat. “ Where did he get to — or 
where did they get to ? ” 

11 That's what we would like to know,” said 
little Tom Clifton. 

“ An axiom,” observed Dave, “ is a self-evi- 
dent fact.” 

“ Did an axiom make the snowballs, fire 
'em over, and plunk Somers in the face ? ” 
grinned Hackett. 

“ No, but somebody did, which is the axiom 
I mean.” 

“ Hi — hi ! ” yelled Hackett. “ Come out 
and show yourself — come up and toast your- 
self. You must be nearly frozen out there ! ” 

Nothing but silence followed the echo of 
Hackett's voice. 

“This certainly is funny,” said Bob. 

“ That's what we all said before, my boy,” 
observed Dick. “ It must be those campers 
on the other side, as Hackett says.” 


Winter Camp 89 

“ Well, they have cleared out, and we might 
as well get back to the fire,” said Nat. 

“ Must be a lot of jokers around these parts,” 
ventured Tom Clifton. 

“ Now they have had their fun, why don’t 
they come out, and show themselves? ” added 
Sam Randall. 

There was no answer to this — and for 
obvious reasons. 

So they tramped toward the fire, which 
flashed between the trees like a beacon, dis- 
cussing the singular affair, with the rather 
unpleasant feeling that any minute a snow- 
ball might land upon the back of somebody’s 
neck. 

Logs were piled on the blaze, and the un- 
fortunate coffee-pot refilled. 

Very wisely, after some discussion, the boys 
decided to let time solve the mystery, so they 
told stories and kept on trying to warm the 
side which was always cold. 

Occasionally from the woods came the hoot 
of an owl, or over the lake the weird cry of a 
loon. 

Hackett was kindly allowed to finish the 
story of his prowess, after which, whether 


9 ° 


The Rambler Club’s 


the result of his tale or not, there was an 
amazing amount of yawning and stretching. 

“Oh, ho, even if it is only half-past eight, 
I’m going to turn in,” announced Dave. 
“ Good-night, fellows.” 

“ Think I will, too,” declared Sam. 

“We can get up early and put in a good 
day to-morrow,” added Nat. 

“And get a shot at something worth while,” 
commented Hackett. “ Just let some of you 
fellows feel what buck fever is like.” 

“ What is it like, 1 Hatchet ’ ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Who said I ever had it ? I’ll take my 
chances with the next one — and don't you 
forget it.” 

“ Did you ever see a deer outside of a wire 
fence?” 

“ My eye ! But you do ask a lot of silly 
questions. Just let me draw a bead on one, 
eh, Nat ? ” 

“ That’s right, Hacky,” grinned Nat, as he 
started for the hut. 

It did not take the rest of the fellows long 
to follow his example. Within a few minutes, 
the fire was deserted, and each had retired to 
his bed of fir brush. 


9 1 


Winter Camp 

It seemed to little Tom Clifton that he had 
been asleep but an instant, when he was 
awakened by the sound of voices and the 
tread of feet. The boy felt a strange sort of 
thrill run through him. With beating heart, 
he listened intently. 

“ Maybe somebody is going to play another 
joke on us,” he thought. Then another idea 
suggested itself, which gave him an unpleas- 
ant start. “ Perhaps the newcomers had a 
more serious object in view.” 

But while he was speculating on the pos- 
sibilities, a sound close to the hut made him 
sit upright. An animal was plainly sniffing 
around. 

The next instant, Tom was terrified to see 
the canvas flap pushed back, and a huge head 
thrust inside. To his excited imagination, it 
looked more like a bear than anything else, 
and, with a startled cry, he threw off the 
blankets and rose tremblingly to his feet. 

Bob and Dave Brandon started up just as a 
deep bay from the huge animal seemed to 
make the very interior shake. 

“ Great Caesar ! ” 

“ By Jingo, what’s this?” 


9 2 


The Rambler Club’s 

The two boys were on their feet in an 
instant, while the animal, with another tre- 
mendous bay, hastily withdrew its head. 

“ It’s only a dog ! ” cried Bob, beginning to 
laugh. 

Before the camp-fire, which, piled high with 
fuel, was springing into life again, stood two 
dark figures, who viewed with unconcern the 
precipitous exit of seven boys from two huts. 

The big animal had rushed to one side, 
where its eyes shone like two orbs of green 
light from the darkness. 

“ Hello ! ” exclaimed one of the strangers. 

“Hello!” cried Bob. 

There was a hearty, boyish ring about the 
voice of the newcomer that dispelled all 
fears from Tom Clifton’s mind. 

The fire blazed up, revealing plainly the 
faces and figures of the visitors. The one who 
had spoken was a bit taller than his com- 
panion, with wide, strong shoulders, brown, 
curly hair, a pleasant face and very red com- 
plexion. The other was short and stocky, 
with a mouth that approached astonishingly 
close to his ears, a decidedly stubby nose, and 
cheeks big and round. 



“HELLO!” EXCLAIMED ONE OF THE STRANGERS 



















































Winter Camp 93 

It was an odd face — an amazingly impudent 
face, that surveyed the boys with a comical 
grin, and one that seemed to invite antago- 
nism. His voice, too, which the boys presently 
heard, was loud and boisterous. 

“ Why, these must be the lads your dad told 
us about, Tim,” he exclaimed. 

Hackett’s face darkened. 

“ Look here ! ” he exclaimed, abruptly, 
“ didn’t you chaps fire a lot of snowballs at 
us a while ago? ” 

“ Fire a lot of snowballs at you? ” repeated 
the newcomers, looking from one to the 
other in apparent surprise. “ What do you 
mean ? ” 

“ Just what I said.” 

“ No ! Of course not— just got here,” spoke 
up the taller boy, unceremoniously piling- 
wood on the blaze. “ Hi — get away, Bowser — 
lie down.” Then he added, “ My name’s Slad- 
der — Tim Sladder, and this is my friend, Billy 
Musgrove.” 

“ Sladder — Sladder,” repeated Hackett. 
“ Sounds kind of familiar. Ah, yes, I re- 
member. Why — say — you must be the son 
of Hiram Sladder, of the Roadside House.” 


94 The Rambler Club’s 

“ You’ve guessed it,” grinned Billy Mus- 
grove. 

“ Well, how on earth, or how on snow, did 
you manage to find us ? ” asked Nat Wingate, 
with interest. 

Musgrove laughed. It was a particularly 
loud and irritating laugh. He threw back his 
head and laughed again, although none of the 
boys could quite understand what there was 
to excite his merriment. 

“ It was this way,” he began. 

“ Hold on, Billy ; I’ll tell it,” broke in 
Tim Sladder. “ Get out, Bowser. You see, 
pop told me all about your coming to the 
hotel, an’ he says ” 

Another laugh, came from Billy Musgrove. 

“ An’ he says, 1 1 told ’em whereabouts to 
go — Lake Wolverine. But them fellers, says I, 
ain’t no hunters. If they don’t get chewed up 
by wolves or wildcats, or get froze, or lost in the 
woods, or if something don’t happen to ’em, I 
miss my guess, an’ ’ ” 

“ I call that pretty cool,” interrupted 
Hackett, in fierce tones. 

Tim Sladder went on, “ You must be the 
long-legged feller pop spoke about. He ” 


Winter Camp 95 

“ Is it cold up there ? ” blurted out Mus- 
grove, with another laugh. 

“See here ” began Hackett, angrily. 

“ Now, Billy Musgrove an’ me's been 
a-wantin’ to take a trip for a long time,” re- 
sumed Tim Sladder, “ so I says to mom, f Why 
can’t we go out huntin’ an’ trappin’, an’ sort of 
keep an eye on ’em? ’ an’ she says, ‘ Just the 
thing an’ ’ ” 

“ My eye ! ” put in Hackett, angrily, “ I like 
that — I do, indeed. What do you think we 
are, anyway — a lot of two-year-olds ? ” 

Musgrove laughed, while Tim Sladder sur- 
veyed the speaker for some moments in mild 
astonishment. 

“ I’m only tellin’ you how we happened to 
come along,” he continued. “ Billy Musgrove 
an' me’s got a bully camp up the lake a bit. 
We seen the light of your fire — get away, 
Bowser — an’ didn’t know but what it might 
be you fellows. So we walked over.” 

“ And you’ve got the job of looking 
out for us, eh, Tim ? ” laughed Nat. “ And 
that big four-legged brute is going to 
help?” 

“ Bowser’s a corking good dog — he is.” 


9 6 


The Rambler Club’s 


The owner patted the head of the great 
hound. “ Mild, when he knows you — have to 
be a little careful, at first. Lie down, Bowser. 
Say, are you coming over to see our camp to- 
morrow ? ” 

“ If you do/' chimed in Musgrove, “ we’ll 
show you some real sport.” 

“ What kind ? ” asked Hackett, with a show 
of interest. 

“ Come over an’ see ! Say, can you fellers 
skate ? ” 

Hackett grinned. 

“ If there is anybody around here who can 
beat me, I’d like to see him.” 

Musgrove’s loud laugh again rang out. 

“ As good at that as bowling over wildcats, 
eh ? Ha, ha ! Tim’s dad says as how you 
could fix ’em. Well — I’ll race you. Say, 
what’s your name?” 

The light playing on Musgrove’s face dis- 
played a grin of enormous dimensions. 

The boys tittered, that is, all except the tall 
youth, who scowled ominously. He was quite 
unable to fathom Billy Musgrove’s manner, 
or to determine whether his dignity was being 
assailed or not. 


Winter Camp 97 

“John Hackett,” answered the owner of 
that name, after a short pause. 

Then the other Kingswood boys introduced 
themselves. 

“ Well, Fm glad we found you,” said Tim 
Sladder, cheerfully. “ I told mom we would. 
Guess we’ll hike back to camp now. Don’t 
forget to look us up to-morrow — so long, fel- 
lows ! Come on, Bowser.” 

Both shouldered their guns and started off, 
at intervals Musgrove’s laugh ringing out. 

“ Mighty funny fellows, I call ’em,” said 
Nat. “ Isn’t it odd that we should meet that 
great hunter, Tim Sladder? And it’s an ‘ un- 
deniable fact ’ that Billy Musgrove is a cool 
one. Hasn’t he the biggest mouth you ever 
saw ? ” 

“ He needs to be taken down a peg or two,” 
growled Hackett. “ Little, sawed-off turnip 
thinks he can skate, eh ? I’ll show him. 
The nerve of the chap — ‘ Say what’s your 
name?’ I had a mind to flop him in the 
snow.” 

“ Oh, ho ! ” laughed Dave ; “ to flop one of 
our guardians in the snow, that’s too much. 
I’m going to turn in.” 


CHAPTER IX 


A NEW SPORT 

Next morning a dull, leaden canopy of 
cloud stretched across the entire heavens. 
The leafless branches cracked and snapped in 
an icy blast that made the boys shiver and 
shake until a roaring fire had been kindled. 

Shortly after breakfast they put on their 
skates and started off. The crisp whirr of the 
steel floated off on the breeze, as, with Hackett 
in the lead, they glided swiftly over the ice. 

“Smoke coming from the cabin over the 
way, fellows/' cried Bob. 

“ Those jokers must be home, then/' re- 
marked Nat. “ When we come back, let’s 
drop over and ask ’em about those snowballs 
—just for fun.” 

“ Sure we will,” agreed Hackett ; “ and 
about those marks on the snow, too.” 

In order to escape the icy blasts out in the 
middle of the lake the boys followed the nu- 
98 


99 


Winter Camp 

merous ba}?s and indentations along the shore. 
In a few minutes they rounded a point and 
came in sight of a camp. It was built against 
the base of a steep hill which was practically 
bare of trees. 

Before a great fire Tim Sladder, Billy Mus- 
grove and Bowser were sitting, the two former 
with their faces turned toward the lake. 

“ Hi, hi ! ” yelled Billy Musgrove, wildly 
waving his arms. 

The skaters swung in to the shore, and 
walked over the crust of snow to the fire. 

“ Glad to see you,” greeted Tim Sladder, 
heartily. “ Lie down, Bowser ! He's all 
right, fellers, don’t be afraid. Have to be 
a little careful with him at first, that’s all. 
What do you think of our camp — slick, eh? ” 

“ Bully ! ” responded Sam Randall. His 
eyes had taken in a hut of substantial dimen- 
sions, built on the same principle as their 
own. 

All crowded around the cheerful fire, Tom 
Clifton keeping on the opposite side from the 
redoubtable Bowser. 

But the big dog seemed to be in a very 
friendly humor. He ambled lazily from one 


100 


The Rambler Club’s 

to the other, looking up into their faces with 
a peculiarly mild and benign expression. 

“ Say, Tackett,” observed Billy Musgrove, 
with his ever-present grin, “ I ” 

“ My name is Hackett — John Hackett.” 

“ Oh, it’s all the same. Didn’t you say 
that you wanted to see some sport, eh? Well, 
me and Tim can show you some.” 

“ That’s what we want to see.” 

Musgrove laughed. He pointed to the 
steep hill back of the hut, then at several 
strips of wood lying close to the fire. They 
were about seven feet in length, four inches 
wide and at one end curved up to a sharp point. 
In the centre of each was a loop. 

“ Do you know what them things is, 
Wackett?” he asked. 

“ They are called skees, I think,” answered 
Hackett, stiffly. 

“ That’s right,” said Musgrove, with a 
gratified look. “ My uncle’s a Swede,” he 
went on, “ an’ over in his country them 
things is used a lot. Talk about scooting — 
just watch Tim an’ me.” 

“ Going to coast down that hill on those 
things?” inquired Tom Clifton, in sur- 


Winter Camp 101 

prise. “ It’s risky ! You might break your 
neck.” 

Musgrove’s only answer was a loud laugh. 
He picked up his pair of skees, Tim Sladder 
following suit. 

“ Stay here, Bowser ! ” commanded the lat- 
ter, shaking his finger in the big dog’s face. 
“ Lie down 1 ” 

“ Don’t need to budge from the fire, 
Wackett,” remarked Musgrove. “ You can 
see the whole shooting match from here. 
Come on, Tim. Is that skating going to be 
done this morning, Wackett?” 

“ Whenever you like, Billy Mushroom,” re- 
turned Hackett, with a steely glare in his eye. 

The two boys began slowly climbing up the 
hill. It was admirably suited to their pur- 
pose, being steep and covered with a smooth 
coating of snow and ice. At the base, it 
rounded gently upward to a hillock, while 
the level stretch before it was only here and 
there covered with underbrush. 

“ I’ve often read about that sport,” com- 
mented Dave Brandon. “ Over in Sweden, 
they take some daring jumps with those 
things.” 


102 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ You wouldn’t catch me trying it,” put in 
Tom Clifton, nervously. 

Hackett sniffed. “ It’s easy,” he asserted. 
“ Must be, if a fellow with a face like Mus- 
grove’s can do it. What’s the matter with 
that brute ? ” 

Bowser, who had been intently gazing after 
his master’s form, uttered a series of dismal 
cries, rising in a sort of crescendo, until the last 
note was of such a mournful and peculiar loud- 
ness that Tom Clifton was positively alarmed. 

“ Maybe he’s going mad,” he suggested, 
brilliantly, edging away. 

Dave Brandon laughed. “ Tim Sladder has 
been trying to fool us,” he declared. “ The 
dog’s as tame as a kitten, and, besides, is 
nearly as old as the hills — here, you Bow- 
ser — come here ! ” 

The big animal obeyed. He fell at the feet 
of the stout boy and looked plaintively at 
him. Dave seized his jaws, and opened them 
wide ; not a tooth was visible. 

“ What did I tell you ? ” he laughed. 

“ That settles it, to my mind,” said Hackett. 
“ I’ll bet those chaps are the ones who threw 
the snowballs.” 


Winter Camp 103 

“Hi, hi!” yelled Musgrove, from the top 
of the hill. “ Hi, hi ! Here I go ! ” 

The boys saw that he had fastened a skee 
to each foot, and, with a long balance pole 
in his hand, stood ready to make the de- 
scent. 

For a moment, he almost disappeared over 
the crest of the hill. Then the boys saw him 
moving forward, and the next instant, with 
arms outstretched, he shot down over the icy 
surface of the declivity at terrific speed. 

“ My eye ! ” cried Hackett. 

“ Christopher ! ” chimed in Nat, while vari- 
ous exclamations came from the others. 

Musgrove seemed to fairly fly, gathering 
speed as he passed down the long slope. 
Breathlessly, the boys watched him skim- 
ming nearer and nearer. Like a flash, he 
mounted the small hillock at the base of the 
hill — the onlookers saw him shoot off in the 
air for a distance of fully fifteen feet, then 
strike the level stretch and skim over its 
surface at lightning speed. 

“ Here I come ! ” yelled Tim Sladder. 
“ Whoop — look out ! ” 

With the swiftness of flight, he flashed 


104 The Rambler Club’s 

down the hill, struck the mound, and went 
speeding after his companion. 

“ My eye ! That’s what I call sport ! ” 
exclaimed John Hackett, enthusiastically. 
“ I’d like to take a fling at that my- 
self.” 

“ Better not, * Hatchet.’ Maybe it isn’t as 
easy as it looks,” spoke up Dick. 

“ Wouldn’t catch me doing it,” added Tom 
Clifton. 

“ Why not try it on a hill that isn’t so 
steep? ” asked Bob Somers. 

John Hackett glanced from one to the 
other with a look of supreme scorn. 

“ Listen to ’em talking like a lot of scared 
cats,” he sniffed. “ Where’s your sand, 
Somers? Do you suppose I’d let little 
* Mushroom ’ think he has me bluffed ? 
Well, I guess not ! ” 

Tim Sladder and Billy Musgrove, with 
flushed faces and sparkling eyes, now ap- 
proached. 

“ Hey, what do you fellers think of that ? ” 
demanded the latter. “ Ain’t it bully sport, 
eh?” 

A chorus of enthusiastic responses showed 


Winter Camp 105 

the boys from Stony Creek what their visitors 
thought of skeeing. 

“Say, ‘Mushroom,’ just lend me those 
skees, will you ? ” asked Hackett, eagerly. 

“What?” — Billy Musgrove’s pudgy face 
began to expand into a broader smile— 
“ what ? ” he repeated. Then he drew back 
his head, and laughed heartily in his own 
peculiar fashion. 

“ Well,” snapped the thin boy, “ what is 
there so funny about it? ” 

“ Why — say — if you lose your balance, 
Sackett, yoii’ll find out — eh, Tim?” 

“ It’s kinder risky fer a feller what ain’t 
never tried it,” admitted Sladder. 

“ It’s easy enough,” insisted Hackett, half 
angrily, the opposition having aroused all his 
combative spirit. “ Anybody can do it. Slip 
off those boards, ‘ Mushroom,’ and hand ’em 
over.” 

“ Huh ! ” exclaimed Musgrove. “ If you 
take a header, don’t blame me. ’Tain’t noth- 
ing, eh?” and with a much injured expres- 
sion, he passed over the skees. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Hackett. “ After I 
start the ball rolling, the rest of you fellows 


io6 The Rambler Club’s 


will want to take a crack at it, too. Just 
watch me slide. Your turn next, Tommy 
Clifton.” 

And with these words, the tall youth 
started confidently up the hill. 

“ He’s a sassy feller, but he’s game, all 
right,” grunted Musgrove, admiringly. 

With a wild yell that would have done 
credit to an Indian, Hackett called attention 
to the fact that he was ready to make the de- 
scent. 

“ Hacky’s all right ! ” laughed Nat. “ Here 
he comes ! ” 

With the speed of the wind, slim John 
Hackett came skimming down the incline. 
Half bent over, and balancing himself with 
the pole, he approached the hillock. 

Eagerly the boys watched him. 

“ Going like an express train ! ” said Tom 
Clifton, breathlessly. “ Ah ” 

A half suppressed cheer came from the 
boys. Hackett rose from the hillock, and 
shot forward. It was a tremendous dash 
through space and the group almost held 
their breath. 

Then a cry of dismay was heard. 


Winter Camp 107 

Hackett, as he alighted on the level stretch, 
lost his balance, his feet flew from under him 
— wildly he swung his arms. 

A cry of alarm, swelling into a confused 
medley of sound, came from the watchers. 
They saw Hackett lurch on his side, and, 
lying prostrate, go spinning along on the ice 
and snow. 


CHAPTER X 


A SKATING MATCH 

“ I’m afraid he’s badly hurt,” wailed Tom 
Clifton, in the greatest alarm. “ I told him 
not to do it.” 

“ Come on, fellows ! ” cried Bob Somers, 
and with the others close at his heels, he 
dashed forward. 

Hackett lay motionless on the snow. 

It was with the greatest misgivings that 
the boys rushed up to him. 

“ Hacky, I say, Hacky — are you hurt ? ” 
panted Nat, anxiously. 

Hackett raised himself on his elbow and 
looked around with a bewildered stare. 

“ Are you hurt, Hacky ? ” repeated Nat, as 
all surrounded the prostrate boy. 

“ Hurt ! ” echoed Hackett, with a glare in 
his eye. “ Of course I’m hurt. Do you sup- 
pose I could scoop up about eighty-five feet of 
snow with my back and not get bumped to 
108 


Winter Camp 109 

pieces ? . And something gave me a fearful 
clip on the back of the head, too. I tell you, 
I saw a lot of stars ! ” 

“But you're not hurt much?" cried Bob 
Somers, with a feeling of great relief. 

“ How do you know I ain't hurt much, 
Somers? " snapped Hackett. “ You can't feel 
the pain in my back, can you ? — or the slam 
I got on the neck? — or the bump over my 
left ear? My eye ! I'd like to meet the man 
that invented this game. Take those sticks, 
‘ Mushroom,' and start a fire with 'em." 

Hackett shook his fist toward the skees, 
then painfully leaned over and began to un- 
fasten them. 

“ It was a fierce slide you got — that's sure," 
commented Musgrove, in a greatly relieved 
tone. “ Your own fault, though, Tackett. I 
told you " 

“If it hadn't been that my foot struck a 
rock, I'd have gone through all right. Don't 
stand around looking at me as if I was a prize 
pig in a show. Give me your hand, Nat ! " 

It soon became apparent that Hackett’s 
temper had sustained the most serious dam- 
age. But this was more easily repaired than 


no 


The Rambler Club’s 

broken bones or strained tendons, and the 
boys were correspondingly thankful. 

But Tim Sladder and Billy Musgrove had 
a pleasant surprise in store, which went far 
toward restoring his temper, and make him 
forget his aches and pains. 

Musgrove went to the back of the hut and 
reappeared with an enormous wild goose. 

“ Got ’im yesterday ! ” he exclaimed. “ Ain’t 
he a whopper? ” 

“ Where?” asked Hackett, eagerly. “ My 
eye ! I want to get a crack at one myself.” 

“ You’ll have plenty of chances, right along 
the lake. If you fellers want to stop, we’ll 
brile it, eh ? ” 

“ You couldn’t drive me away, after getting 
a sight of that,” grinned Nat. “ Hurry it up, 
Billy. I can hardly wait.” 

Sladder and Musgrove worked with com- 
mendable speed, and within a few minutes 
the goose was broiling over the fire. 

It took a long time to cook, but the boys 
were well repaid for their wait, especially as 
roast potatoes were included in the meal. 

“ Say, Sladder,” remarked Nat Wingate, at 
length, balancing a tin dipper of coffee in one 


Ill 


Winter Camp 

hand and a goose leg in the other, “ what did 
you mean by making us think that your dog 
is fierce ? ” 

Sladder grinned. “ So you found out ? ” 
he said. “ Well, Musgrove an’ me thought 
it was a good joke, 'cause Bowser’s the tamest 
dog I ever saw.” 

“ And it was you who threw a lot of snow- 
balls at our camp — honest — wasn’t it? ” 

“ No such thing ! ” protested Tim Sladder, 
warmly. “ Eh, Billy ? ” 

“ Own up to it now.” 

“ Certainly we won’t ! I tell you it wasn’t 
us ! ” Musgrove managed to say, between huge 
mouthfuls. 

“ What has that got to do with a skating 
match?” demanded Hackett. “Eh, ‘Mush- 
room ’ ? ” 

“ Huh ! d’ye mean to say that you feel 
like skating after sich a tumble as you had ? ” 
demanded Musgrove, in astonishment. 

“ A little thing like that doesn’t bother me,” 
said Hackett, reflectively, rubbing his left 
shoulder. “ Who wants to go in the match ? ” 

“ I will,” said Bob Somers. 

“ Count me in, too,” added Dick Travers. 


112 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ And me, too,” said Randall. 

“ How about you, Chubby ? ” asked Bob. 

“ Count me out of it,” replied Dave, 
promptly. 

“ For the championship of Lake Wolverine 
let it be,” grinned John Hackett. “ Where’ll 
we begin ? ” 

“ From here — to the end of the lake, in your 
direction,” answered Musgrove, promptly. 

“ Good ! In about an hour we’ll start.” 

Sitting around the fire was so pleasant that 
the hour lengthened into two. 

Finally Hackett jumped to his feet. “ My 
eye ! ” he exclaimed ; “ it’s getting late. Come 
ahead, ‘ Mushroom ’ — clap on your skates.” 

Billy Musgrove winked. It was an ex- 
pressive wink, and seemed to be a fitting 
counterpart to his expansive grin. 

“ All right, Wackett,” he said. “ I’m ready 
—for the championship of Lake Wolverine,” 
and his speech ended with a loud laugh. 

“ He won’t smile so much after the race,” 
whispered Hackett to Nat Wingate. “ This 
is where he gets taken down the first 
peg.” 

“ You can do it, Hacky, if any one can,” 


Winter Camp 113 

returned Nat, in equally cautious tones. 
'‘Make him think he’s standing still.” 

Bob Somers presently scratched a long line 
on the ice, and five contestants eagerly toed 
the mark. 

“ Bully sport — skatin’,” grinned Musgrove. 

“ Only your legs ain’t very long,” chuckled 
Hackett. 

“ They don’t have to grow none, to beat 
some fellers.” 

“ One — two — three ! ” cried Nat, — “ go ! ” 

Like a flash, the boys were off. 

“ Hi, hi, Billy ! ” yelled Tim Sladder ; “ go 
it ! hi, hi ! ” 

“ Keep it up, Hacky — you’ve got ’em left at 
the post ! ” shouted Nat. 

Three of the party kept neck and neck — 
Bob Somers, Hackett and Musgrove, while 
Dick Travers and Sam Randall fell to the 
rear. 

All had expected to see slim John Hackett 
quickly take the lead, but, to their surprise, 
both Somers and Musgrove at once set such a 
pace that the tall youth was compelled to ex- 
ert himself to a far greater degree than he 
cared to at that stage of the proceedings. 


n 4 


The Rambler Club’s 

From an unexpectedly one-sided affair, the 
race developed into an exciting contest. 

The non-contestants trailed along in the 
rear, at a pretty fast clip. 

“ You’re winning, hands down, Hacky ! ” 
yelled Nat. 

“ Keep it up, Bob Somers ! ” shouted Tom 
Clifton, excitedly. 

“Hi, hi!” cried Tim Sladder. “ Go it, 
Billy — go it ! ” 

Musgrove was going it. His short legs 
moved with wonderful rapidity. Leaning 
well forward, he kept up a steady rythmic 
movement, occasionally spurting in a manner 
which showed that he had himself well under 
control. 

Hackett, guarding his strength and wind, 
saw, first with astonishment, then dismay, that 
Billy Musgrove refused to be shaken off. He 
was, before very long, breathing hard ; his eyes 
gleamed with determination ; off in the dis- 
tance he saw the end of the lake rounding in 
a semicircle — the goal. 

The moment for the final spurt had arrived ; 
he was ready to bend all his energies in a last 
desperate effort to draw away from the grin- 


Winter Camp 115 

ning face beside him, when a strange sound 
reached his ears. 

It was a curious, crackling noise, which in- 
creased in intensity. Then a clear, sharp re- 
port like a pistol-shot suddenly reverberated 
across the lake. Instantly a dark line flashed 
over the surface of the ice directly in the path 
of the skaters. 

As occasionally happens, the ice had been 
under a tension, which finally became so great 
as to cause it to crack, leaving a bare space 
perhaps five or six inches wide. 

The unexpected incident caused the boys to 
check their momentum, but there was not 
sufficient time to stop, and Musgrove’s skate, 
striking the edge of the crack, almost sent him 
headlong. It was only by a powerful effort 
that he managed to save himself. 

Hackett and Somers, who had jumped the 
crack safely, turned their heads to see how 
Musgrove had fared — then, puffing and blow- 
ing, came to a stop. 

“ Fierce luck ! ” panted Musgrove. “ Was 
just going to spurt, too. I had your measure, 
Tackett.' ’ 

“Spurt?" sniffed Hackett. “Much good 


The Rambler Club’s 


116 

that would have done. You would have been 
beaten so badly on the last stretch that ” 

“ Huh ! I would, hey ? You never saw the 
day when you could beat me, Crackett ! ” 

“ You’ll have to grow about a foot, ‘ Mud- 
bank/ before you’re in my class,” retorted 
Hackett, angrily. 

“ No use scrapping about it, boys,” said Bob 
Somers. “ Plenty of time to settle the cham- 
pionship of Lake Wolverine.” 

“ There ain’t no one in Stony Creek can 
beat me,” asserted Musgrove, positively ; “ ask 
Tim Sladder.” 

“ Well, there’s one here who can.” 

“ ’Tain’t so! An’ Scummers was right up 
with us, too.” 

“ Oh, ho, fellows,” drawled Dave Brandon ; 
“ what’s the matter with you ? The lake is 
still here, and to-morrow’s coming. You can 
try it again, and maybe I’ll go in for the 
championship myself.” 

This idea made the expansive grin reappear 
on Musgrove’s face, and, with a survey of the 
poet laureate’s generous proportions, he broke 
into his usual laugh. 

“ Let’s get over to camp, fellows, and see if 


Winter Camp 117 

any one has been up to more funny tricks,” 
suggested Tom Clifton. 

“ That’s the idea,” approved Dave. “ It’s 
too late, now, to go over and see those 
fellows across the lake. Besides, I’m half 
frozen.” 

When the party reached the huts, they 
found everything as it had been left. 

“ You fellows had better grub with us to- 
night,” said Nat Wingate, addressing Sladder 
and Musgrove. “ How will that do? ” 

“ Bully ! ” replied the two in unison. 

The canopy of cloud still hung over the 
landscape, and strong gusts of wind made the 
biting cold seem all the more intense. 

Wow ! This is the worst yet,” growled 
Dave. “ Wouldn’t care to have stayed out on 
the lake any longer.” 

“ It will get a great deal wuss than this,” 
put in Tim Sladder, cheerfully, “ but I don’t 
keer as long as there ain’t no blizzard.” 

“ Suppose one will be due pretty soon, eh ? ” 
remarked Sam Randall, with a critical glance 
at the lowering sky. “ Bother the wind ! 
Listen to it howling among those trees.” 

Between dancing, swinging their arms and 


n8 The Rambler Club’s 

crowding around the blazing fire, the boys 
managed to keep fairly comfortable. 

Twilight began to blot out the distance and, 
at length, night enveloped the scene — a sullen, 
gloomy night — one of the blackest they had 
ever seen. The towering flames threw a wider 
circle of light than usual, and the near-by 
trees stood out weirdly against the background. 

“ Think I know where there’s a b’ar hole,” 
remarked Tim Sladder, in a casual way, as he 
began to eat with much eagerness a plate of 
rabbit stew. “ Me an’ Billy seen it yesterday 
mornin’.” 

“ My eye ! That’s what I like to hear,” 
said Hackett, enthusiastically. “ Anybody 
can crack a six ounce rabbit. I’m for heavy- 
weight game.” 

“ And I’m for eating all kinds,” put in 
Dave Brandon, with a laugh. 

“ If we don’t bring down a deer or two, I’ll 
be disappointed,” added Bob. 

“ I’ve bagged ’em,” began Billy Musgrove, 
as he leaned over and helped himself to 
another plate of stew, “ an’ ’tain ’t so easy as 
you think, Plummers. No, sir ; I remember 
once, me an’ my dad, an’ say — talk about 


u 9 


Winter Camp 

shooting there ain’t none can beat him — well, 
we spotted a herd of deer in the distance, an’, 
as luck would have it, the wind was just 
right.” 

Musgrove paused, and seeing that his 
hearers were displaying a proper amount of 
interest, was about to continue, when, with 
startling abruptness, a series of the most dis- 
cordant, rasping cries came from the depths of 
the woods. 


CHAPTER XI 


A NIGHT ALARM 

“ What in the world is that? ” cried Tommy 
Clifton, aghast. 

“ Christopher ! ” exclaimed Nat. “ Is it a ' 
wildcat ? ” 

“ A wolf, perhaps ! ” chimed in Sam Randall, 
excitedly, straining his eyes to pierce the 
gloom. 

The boys were thoroughly startled, but in a 
moment each had seized his gun, and stood 
ready for any emergency. 

The cries continued — a steady succession 
of blood-curdling sounds which made the group 
of boys look at each other in wonder and 
alarm. 

Bowser began to whine, and utter short, 
doleful barks ; then threw himself on the 
ground, apparently in great fear. 

“ Never heard no four-legged critter make 
sich sounds as them,” said Tim Sladder, in 
awed tones. 


120 


121 


Winter Camp 

“ An’ it certainly isn’t no humans,” broke 
in Musgrove, in a voice that he vainly tried to 
control. 

The cries ceased as suddenly as they had 
begun. 

“ My eye ! It couldn’t have been a wild- 
cat,” declared John Hackett. 

“And it certainly wasn’t a wolf,” cried Bob. 

“ Then what was it ? ” demanded Nat. 

“ Never in my born days did I hear any- 
thing like it. It was awful ! ” gasped Sladder. 
“ Listen ! Is there anything skulking ’round 
over there ? ” 

With trembling hands, Musgrove lighted a 
pine-knot, and, advancing toward the thicket, 
held it high above his head. The other boys 
followed closely. 

A flaring circle of light slowly danced 
along over the snow. Bright beams glanced 
from tree to tree, queer shaped shadows flitted 
about, but the hissing, sputtering flames 
revealed nothing but gaunt trees and under- 
brush. 

“ This is the strangest thing yet,” declared 
Bob Somers. 

“ What kind of a place have we struck, I 


122 


The Rambler Club’s 


wonder ?” put in Dick Travers. “ First we 
are snowballed by somebody who isn’t any- 
body, and now we get the life scared out of 
us by an animal that isn’t an animal. What 
do you think about it, Chubby ? ” 

Dave considered. “ To tell the truth, Dick, 
I don’t know what to think,” he answered, 
slowly. 

“ I don’t like this — don’t, for a fact,” de- 
clared Musgrove. “ I ain’t afraid of no 
animals, or humans either. But take my 
word on it, there’s something funny going on 
around this place.” 

All breathed easier as time went on, and 
there came no repetition of the cries. 

The boys had all returned to the camp-fire, 
but Bob at length exclaimed, “ Who has the 
sand to go out with me and take another look 
around ? — H’m,” he added, as he glanced in 
the direction of the lake and waved his hand 
toward a starlike point which glimmered 
faintly in the distance, “ there’s a light in 
the cabin.” 

“ So there is ! ” cried Sam, with interest. 
“ But say — come on — let’s scurry around a 
bit.” 



WITH THEIR GUNS TIGHTLY CLASPED THEY STARTED 













. 














■ 


. 

' 



















































































12 3 


Winter Camp 

Bob, Hackett and Sam procured lanterns. 
Then, with their guns tightly clasped, they 
started out. Near the lake, the gusts of wind 
tore against them with unpleasant violence. 
Bending over, to escape its full force, they 
strained their eyes and ears to catch a 
glimpse or sound of the strange visitor, but 
their efforts were not rewarded. 

“ It’s back to the fire for me,” puffed Sam, 
at length. “ Whew ! This cold is awful.” 

“ Hey, did you see anything ? ” asked Mus- 
grove, eagerly, as they emerged from the 
darkness. 

“ Not a thing, 1 Mushroom,’ ” responded 
Hackett. 

“ Oh, ho ! ” said Dave, yawning ; “ then 
there’s no use making our heads ache about 
it — I won’t, for one.” 

When the time came for Sladder and Mus- 
grove to leave, they seemed to be in anything 
but a comfortable frame of mind. Many a 
nervous glance the two cast toward the outer 
darkness. But there was no help for it. 

“ Take one of our lanterns, Sladder,” said 
Bob Somers. “ We will get it to-morrow.” 

“ And don’t be chewed up by that wander- 


124 


The Rambler Club’s 


ing screecher,” called out Nat, with a grin, 
as they started off. 

The boys sat around for a short time, then 
turned in. On soft bough beds, buried under 
piles of warm blankets, they were speedily 
lulled to sleep by the wind which swept 
around the huts. 

After breakfast next morning a great 
supply of fuel was gathered. j 

“ Hello ! ” exclaimed Bob. “ Here come 
some fellows across the lake. Three of ’em,” 
he added. “Bet they are from that cabin.” 

“ Let ’em come,” said Hackett. “ Guess 
we can stand it.” 

The skaters were making good speed, and 
in a short time their forms grew clear and 
distinct against the gray background of ice. 
The boys saw that they were young men, 
probably about the age of twenty-one. 

“ Aren’t they dressed in rough clothes, 
though ? ” said Sam. 

“And with beards growing to beat the 
band,” added Hackett. 

“ A fierce-looking lot — that’s sure,” ex- 
claimed Nat. 

Nevertheless, as the three drew up to the 


Winter Camp 125 

camp, our friends saw that their faces were 
not unprepossessing. 

“ Hello ! — Hello ! ” they exclaimed, almost 
in one breath, nodding to the boys in a 
friendly way. 

“ Hello ! ” responded the young hunters, 
cheerfully. 

“We are occupying that cabin across the 
lake,” began one of the youths who appeared 
to be the elder, “ and have several times 
noticed your camp-fire. So we thought that 
being so close together it might be well to 
form a society for mutual protection.” 

“ For mutual protection ? ” echoed Hackett, 
in a questioning tone. 

“ Exactly ! ” returned the other, with a 
smile. “ Now, I don't know what experience 
in hunting you may have had, but this time 
of year, wolves are apt to be on the rampage, 
and when a howling pack of 'em gets after 
you — well, a fellow generally wishes he was 
somewhere else.” 

“ Do you think they are likely to come 
around here ? ” put in Tom Clifton. 

“ They may. Then, in camp li r fe, certain 
emergencies are liable to arise, when assist- 


126 


The Rambler Club’s 


ance is needed. But 1 forgot ” — the speaker 
paused, then added, with a short laugh — “ be- 
fore I go any further, we had better intro- 
duce ourselves. My name is Charlie Piper.” 

“ Mine is Rex Heydon,” put in one of the 
others. 

“ And mine is Fulmer Robson,” added the 
third. 

The boys, in turn, quickly introduced 
themselves. 

Presently the speaker continued, “ We came 
out on a hunting trip, and stumbled across 
the cabin. Do you intend to stay here 
long?” 

“ Two or three weeks, at least,” replied Bob. 

“ Good ! Well, as I was saying, it might 
not be a bad plan to arrange a code of signals.” 

“ A fine idea,” commented Bob Somers. 
“ It might come in very handy, indeed.” 

“We could use smoke signals,” went on 
Piper. “ You know how to make them? ” 

“ How ? ” asked little Tom Clifton. 

“ A couple of fellows hold a blanket over 
the fire — then withdraw it quickly, and re- 
peat. The smoke, of course, rises in detached 
clouds.” 


12 7 


Winter Camp 

“ Sure — we know all about that/’ inter- 
rupted John Hackett, loftily ; “ and firing off 
guns, too — two shots close together, then a 
single one.” 

“ That’s it,” said Piper. “ Of course we 
may never need anything of the sort — yet it’s 
well to be prepared.” 

“ Suppose we come to an understanding 
about the signals,” suggested Heydon. 

“ We shall be glad to,” assented Bob. 

“ Well, in case you need assistance of any 
kind, send up three clouds of smoke, and fire 
off a gun. You’ll find us hiking over here in 
a hurry.” 

“ And, of course, if the signal comes from 
our side, we shall expect you to cross the lake 
in jig time,” added Fulmer Robson. 

“ You can depend upon us,” said Bob. 

“ Well, that point is settled. This locality 
seems to be a favorite place for hunters, and 
we’re glad of it. A couple of young fellows 
have a camp near by.” 

“ Yes — their names are Sladder and Mus- 
grove,” explained Bob. 

“ H’m, as I said, it’s good to have company, 
providing we don’t take each other for deer or 


128 


The Rambler Club’s 


other animals/’ laughed Piper. “ A good, 
solid pair of shelters you have there, boys.” 

“ Oh, this isn’t our first camping trip,” said 
Hackett. “ We know a thing or two about it.” 

“ I see that you do.” 

“ Say ! ” remarked Nat Wingate, rather ab- 
ruptly. “ Didn’t you fellows play a little 
joke on us the other night? ” 

“ How ? ” asked Piper, in puzzled tones. 

“ Why — fire a lot of snowballs. One of 
them knocked over the coffee-pot and an- 
other washed Bob Somers’ face.” 

“ Why, no ! I assure you we didn’t do it,” 
said Rex Hey don, quickly. “ No, sir — it may 
have been those two boys.” 

“ Was an animal of some kind prowling 
around on your side of the lake last night? ” 
broke in Hackett. “ We heard the most 
awful lot of wild screeching you can imagine. 
It scared some of these little chaps pretty 
badly.” 

“ Speak for yourself, ‘ Hatchet,’ ” said Tom 
Clifton, indignantly. 

“ Thought I heard wolves in the distance,” 
answered Piper, “ but wasn’t sure. Nothing 
close to camp, though, was there, Robson ? ” 


129 


Winter Camp 

“ Not a thing/’ was the answer. 

The visitors stayed for some time, then, 
after cordially inviting the boys to come over 
and see them, shouldered their guns and be- 
gan the return trip. 

“ Nice fellows,” commented Tom Clifton, 
“ and a good idea of theirs about signals.” 

“ Everybody seems to think we need help,” 
observed Bob, good-humoredly. “ Between 
guardians and smoke signals we ought to be 
all right. Who wants to go after fish, fel- 
lows ? ” he asked. 

“ I do,” said Sam Randall. 

Provided with a couple of spears and an 
axe, besides their guns, the boys made their 
way toward the lake, and followed the shore 
to the south. At length, reaching a point 
where a number of scraggly willows leaned 
over the frozen surface, Bob stopped. 

It was a dreary, barren spot. A fallen 
bough of yellow leaves rustled musically in 
the wind and the trees sighed and shivered. 
A few tufts of forlorn, withered grass still lin- 
gered, as a reminder of the season past. 

“ Looks like a good place, Sam,” he 
said. 


13 ° 


The Rambler Club’s 

“ You try here, and I’ll go along a bit 
further/’ was the answer. 

Bob soon chopped a square hole in the ice, 
then handed the axe to Sam, who proceeded 
on his way. 

With spear poised for action, Bob waited. 
It was cold work, and he began to wish that 
he had gone shooting, instead. Then, quick 
as a flash, his spear descended through the 
hole. 

“ Missed ! ” he muttered, regretfully, draw- 
ing it back by means of the attached rope. 

Some time elapsed before another chance 
presented itself. When, at length, a shadowy 
form flitted by, Bob again took aim, and sent 
the spear through the opening. 

“ But I got one that time,” he thought, 
pulling in the rope. “ Great luck — a good- 
sized pickerel ! ” he exclaimed, as the prize 
came in view. “ A few more like this will 
do.” 

He detached the fish, laid it to one side 
and was about to continue his occupation 
when a hail came from Sam Randall. 

Turning quickly, he saw the boy wildly 
gesticulating. 


Winter Camp 131 

“ Wild geese ! ” came a faint cry. 

“ By George, he’s right ! ” exclaimed Bob, 
in excitement, “ and what’s better, they are 
coming this way.” 

In their peculiar V-shaped formation and 
flying low, a flock of geese were speeding in 
an easterly direction. 

Bob Somers’ interest in spearing fish sud- 
denly vanished. Quickly seizing his gun, he 
made a dash across the ice, and raised it just 
as the leader veered sharply toward the right. 
Two reports rang out in quick succession. 
Each charge found a victim. Two birds came 
tumbling down, while the others, with cries 
of alarm, flew swiftly away and were out of 
range of Sam Randall’s gun. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Bob. “ Two of ’em — not 
bad — and big, plump fellows, too.” 

“ That’s great, Bob ! ” exclaimed Sam, as he 
came up. “ Only wish I’d had a chance, too ; 
but never mind — better luck next day.” 

“ Won’t ‘ Hatchet ’ wish he had been here? ” 
laughed Bob, as he slung the geese over his 
shoulder. “ Got any fish, Sam ? ” 

“ No ! ” 

“ Well, I beat you by one.” 


* 3 2 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Guess I’ll try again/’ 

“ All right, Sam. We’ll keep it up for a 
while.” 

The boys then separated. 

After reloading his gun, Bob picked up the 
spear and resumed his place by the side of 
the hole. 

Notwithstanding the comparative shelter of 
his position, he soon began to suffer from the 
intense cold. 

“ Hi, hi, hi, Sam ! ” he yelled. “ Do you 
want to go back ? ” 

“ I’ll be right with you,” came the reply. 

Sam Randall soon came up, much dis- 
gusted at his poor luck. 

u Not a thing the whole morning,” he 
grumbled. “ Say, Bob, when are we going 
off on that great hunt for deer — to-morrow, 
eh ? ” 

“ Of course ! ” 

“ Good ! And I’ll get something, if it’s 
only a squirrel.” 

When the boys reached camp, they found 
all hands, including Sladder and Musgrove, 
around the fire. 

11 My eye, Somers ! That’s what I call a 


*33 


Winter Camp 

good sight ! ” exclaimed Hackett. “ How did 
it happen ? Did they fly down and say, 
‘ Here I am — bang away,’ or did you go after 
’em with a pinch of salt ? ” 

Bob laughed. “ You’re not the only crack 
shot here, 1 Hatchet,’ ” he said. “ What’s the 
matter, Musgrove ? You look sleepy.” 

“ An’ who wouldn’t be sleepy?” responded 
Billy, with a terrific yawn. “ Sich a night 
as me an’ Tim put in.” 

“ What was the matter ? ” 

“ Matter — say ” Musgrove lowered his 

voice, and his tone became strained. “ Why, 
we hadn’t no more’n turned in, when Bowser 
began to act queer — cry an’ whine — an’ of a 
sudden he flops down. Skeered? — I never 
seen nothing like it — no, sir. Then them 
there cries started again — wuss than ever, eh, 
Tim ? ” 

At the recollection, Musgrove’s ruddy face 
seemed to turn a shade paler, while a fright- 
ened expression came into his eyes. 

“ Wuss than ever ? I should say so ! ” 
echoed Tim. “ I’ve knocked around in the 
woods for a long time, but I never heard 
nothing like it before.” 


134 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Tain’t natural, I tell you/’ said Mus- 
grove. “ Neither me or Tim slep’ a wink all 
night.” 

“ It’s some kind of a prowling beast, Mus- 
grove,” put in Nat. “ If we once get a crack 
at him, there won’t be much more howling 
done.” 

“ That’s right, Nat,” said John Hackett, 
“ and I only hope we get a chance to-night.” 

After lunch, the boys in several parties 
started out on a tour of exploration. 

Bob, Sam Randall and Dick Travers discov- 
ered a creek, and in the course of their wan- 
derings came across the trail of a fox. The 
boys had decided to put in the whole of the 
next day on a trip in quest of big game. 

“ Every time I think of that buck, I want 
to start right off,” declared Bob Somers. 

“ So do I,” exclaimed Sam. “ If we brought 
one down, it would cause a sensation all 
right.” 

Late in the afternoon the camp was reached. 

It was soon discovered that Hackett had 
again made several remarkable shots. Three 
rabbits lay on the snow, while an owl fastened 
to a stick stood in front of the hut. 


135 


Winter Camp 

“ There’s an ex-screecher that’s going to 
be stuffed,” announced Hackett, proudly. 
“ Banged him just as he was getting to cover. 
If that queer animal comes sneaking around 
again, it’ll be another job for a taxidermist.” 

All hands retired early. 

The gray light of morn had just begun to 
show in the eastern sky when John Hackett 
awakened with a dreadful start, and looked 
wildly around. 

The blood-curdling cries of the mysterious 
animal were again sounding, and now ap- 
parently close at hand. Hackett felt a cold 
perspiration standing out upon his face. For 
an instant, too terrified to move, he listened 
intently, while the harsh, rasping cries poured 
out in a steady volume. 

Then the spell was broken. 

“ Nat — wake up ! ” he cried. “ Nat ! ” and 
leaning over, he vigorously shook the sleeping 
boy. 

“ Why — what’s — the ” gasped Nat. 

Then his blinking eyes opened wide. With 
a startled exclamation, he sat up, and, at the 
same moment, Sam Randall and Dick Travers 
were aroused. 


136 The Rambler Club’s 

In confusion and terror, the boys reached 
for their guns, every instant expecting to hear 
the tread of their foe outside. 

“ Christopher ! It’s most on top of us, 
Hacky,” yelled Nat, excitedly. “ Quick ! ” 

With a hand that trembled in spite of him- 
self, Hackett drew back the canvas flap. No 
sooner had he peered through the opening 
than a wild cry escaped his lips. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WILDCAT 

Within a few feet of the hut, motionless 
upon a fallen tree, stood an enormous wildcat. 
Its large yellow eyes were glaring steadily 
toward them, and, as if transfixed by sight of 
the group of pale faces which suddenly ap- 
peared, it made not the slightest move. 

“ Look at those blazing eyes ! ” cried 
Sam. 

“ IPs going to spring — watch out, fellows ! ” 
shouted Hackett. 

“ I knew a wildcat was making those awful 
cries,” chattered Dick. 

Hackett, with a look of determination, 
raised his gun, Nat following suit. 

The cries had ceased. As if in sullen defi- 
ance, the animal glared toward the hut. 

“ By Jingo, I never saw anything stand so 
still,” exclaimed Sam Randall. 

Hackett’s arms trembled in his eagerness 
137 


138 The Rambler Club’s 

and excitement, as he pulled the trigger. Two 
deafening reports blended into one. 

Without a cry, the wildcat toppled off the 
tree trunk, and fell with a thud in the snow, 
where it lay motionless and stretched out in a 
strangely stiff position. 

With loud shouts of exultation, Hackett and 
Nat Wingate leaped forward. Clutching his 
still smoking gun by the barrel, the former 
swung it with telling force on the animal’s head. 

“ Hurrah, hurrah ! ” he cried. “ I’ve settled 
him. Don’t be scared, Somers and the rest — 
wow ” 

Hackett suddenly paused, the light of ex- 
citement faded from his eyes and he began to 
stare. A dreadful suspicion that everything 
wasn’t as it should be had entered his head. 

Nat, too, was staring, and so were all the 
others. 

The wildcat had a most unusual appearance. 
Its head was flattened to a most extraordinary 
degree by Hackett’s blow, and its four legs 
stuck up in the air, stiff and straight, like 
pokers. 

A discovery was made — an amazing dis- 
covery — the wildcat was stuffed. One yel- 


Winter Camp 139 

low glass eye had dropped out and lay upon 
the snow. 

There was a moment of silence. Then 
Hackett, with an angry exclamation, deliv- 
ered an energetic kick, which lifted the 
stuffed animal in the air and sent it tumbling 
to the ground several feet away. As it fell, a 
long rent appeared, from which flew an 
abundant supply of pine-needles. 

A storm of merriment burst forth. The 
boys danced around, holding their sides, 
while Hackett, his color rising, glared from 
one to the other with an expression of the 
greatest disgust. 

“Oh, this is the richest joke I ever heard 
of,” shouted Nat Wingate. “ Hacky settled 
him with that crack on the head. ‘ Look out, 
he’s going to spring.’ Oh, those ‘ blazing 
eyes.’ ” Almost convulsed with laughter, the 
ex-leader of the Nimrods sent the stuffed 
specimen once again flying through the air. 

Then followed a scene suggestive of the foot- 
ball field. Between rushes could be seen 
glimpses of a sadly kicked and battered object 
rising and falling and hurtling back and forth. 

“ Twenty-five doctors wouldn’t have done 


140 


The Rambler Club’s 


me as much good as this/’ declared Nat. 
“ Cheer up, Hacky — you look so sad.” 

“ Never mind what I look like,” returned 
Hackett, fiercely. “ Stop your giggling, 
Tommy Clifton. I owe you one, and ” 

“ Oh, ho ! ” exclaimed Dave Brandon. 
“ Such is life in the wilderness. There’s 
somebody around here with a sense of 
humor.” 

“ It would have turned to sadness, if I’d 
met him,” said John Hackett. “ I believe it’s 
those fellows across the lake. Smoke signals 
— all in my eye — they just came over to see 
the lay of the camp.” 

“ How about Sladder and Musgrove?” 
asked Dick Travers. 

“ They haven’t brains enough.” 

“ And those awful cries ? ” 

“ Well, what do you suppose I know about 
’em, Travers?” snapped John Hackett. “ I 
wouldn’t mind if they were to start up right 
now.” 

“ Are we going to try and find out where 
this beast came from? ” inquired Bob. 

Hackett glanced toward the strange-looking 
wildcat with a savage scowl. 


1 4 1 


Winter Camp 

“ Well, I should say so ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Oh, ho, why not look for tracks, fellows? ” 
proposed Dave Brandon. “ The only thing 
I’m mad about is getting awakened so early 
in the morning,” he went on. “ Some one is 
having great fun at our expense, and if we 
work quietly there’s a chance of finding out 
who it is.” 

“ Not much use of looking for tracks,” 
growled Hackett. “ The snow’s been trampled 
too much for that. Wish I’d caught that fel- 
low in the act.” 

“ This looks like a print made by a snow- 
shoe ! ” exclaimed Bob, suddenly. 

“ That’s just what it is,” agreed Dave 
Brandon, leaning over and examining an im- 
pression which Somers pointed out. 

“And here’s another,” put in Sam Randall. 

In the course of a quarter of an hour 
distinct tracks were discovered leading around 
the base of the hill. The boys followed these 
gleefully for a short distance, then the trail 
was lost. It was some time, however, before 
they became discouraged and abandoned the 
search. 

“ Wish we could find out who has been 


142 The Rambler Club’s 

playing all these tricks,” said Nat, reflect- 
ively. 

“ We’re going to — and that pretty soon.” 

“ How shall we do it, Hacky ? ” 

“ Leave it to me. Nobody is going to 
make an easy mark of John Hackett.” 

During breakfast, the boys continued to 
discuss the mysterious affair, the majority 
agreeing that Hackett was right. 

“ Stuffed wildcats and funny screeches 
won’t prevent me from going on that hunting 
trip to-day,” declared Bob, “ and right after 
breakfast, too.” 

“ When you get back, we may have a little 
game to show you ourselves,” remarked 
Hackett, dryly. 

It had been agreed by the boys that it was 
better to divide into two parties, as so many 
tramping together would be apt to scare off 
game. 

In a short time Bob Somers, Sam Randall 
and Dick Travers had strapped on their snow- 
shoes and were ready. Each was plentifully 
supplied with ammunition and had a sub- 
stantial lunch reposing in the bottom of his 
game-bag. 


Winter Camp 143 

They followed the course of the creek, dis- 
covered the day before. Its banks were lined 
with underbrush and overhanging trees, 
while huge drifts of snow glistened in the 
early morning light. Finally the creek be- 
came so winding that it was abandoned, and 
the boys began to climb the steep sides of a 
pine-clad hill. 

“ Here’s where we begin to blaze a trail,” said 
Bob, as he took a small hatchet from his belt. 

The top of the ridge was soon reached. 
Beyond extended a picturesque valley, on the 
far side of which rose a steep, rugged hill, 
partly bare of timber. The weather still 
continued threatening. 

“ Look there ! ” cried Dick, abruptly, in his 
excitement almost shouting the words. 

The boys quickly turned. A couple of 
grayish animals had darted from behind a 
mass of underbrush. 

“ Foxes ! ” exclaimed Bob, excitedly. 

In an instant, three reports reverberated 
from the opposite hills. The foremost fox 
leaped high in the air and fell motionless in 
the snow, while the other, with a flying leap, 
cleared a bush and disappeared from view. 


144 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ We got one, anyway ! ” cried Bob, exult- 
antly. “ Make sure he’s finished, fellows,” 
he added, as they ran toward their prize ; “ a 
fox can give a pretty nasty bite.” 

“ This fellow never will ! ” exclaimed Dick. 
“ What a beauty — a silver gray fox, too ; that 
kind is rare.” 

“ Guess we all shot at the same one,” com- 
mented Bob. “ Like ‘ Hatchet’s ’ owl, this 
fellow ought to be stuffed,” he added, medita- 
tively. 

“ That’s the idea,” agreed Dick, enthusiastic- 
ally. “ We’ll only need a couple more to go 
around.” 

“ It’s pretty heavy. How shall we carry 
it ? ” asked Sam. 

“ Easy enough. Cut a sapling, tie the fox 
to it, let one end drag in the snow and the 
other rest on your shoulder. Taking turns, it 
ought not to be hard work.” 

Bob quickly felled a sapling and trimmed 
off the branches. Then he tied the fox’s legs 
in pairs, pushed the pole between and fastened 
the body with a short piece of rope in such a 
manner as to prevent it from slipping down. 

“ Capital, Bob ! ” observed Dick. “ But say 


Winter Camp 145 

— suppose we don’t get any others — whose fox 
is this ? ” 

“ The only fair way is to divide it into 
thirds,” laughed Sam. “ I'll take the head.” 

“ My scheme is better than that.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Present the fox to Professor Hopkins. 
He will be delighted.” 

“ Oh, that’s the idea ! ” said Dick. “ Well, 
I agree to it. How about you, Sam ? ” 

14 It’s the best way to settle the matter.” 

The ground now sloped down to a dark, 
gloomy ravine, with steep, slippery sides. 

“A pretty deep gully, eh, fellows?” re- 
marked Bob. 

“ How are we going to get across, I won- 
der ? ” spoke up Sam. 

“ There may be a place a bit further 
along.” 

“ Hello, here’s just the thing ! ” exclaimed 
Dick, a few moments later. “ A piece of 
luck, I call it.” 

He pointed toward a tree straight ahead, 
which a storm had evidently sent crashing 
earthward. It formed a natural bridge across 
the chasm. 


146 The Rambler Club’s 

“ Couldn’t be better/’ observed Bob. 
“ We’ll get over in a jiffy.” 

Dick Travers unstrapped his snow-shoes 
and tossed them over to the opposite side. 

‘‘Here goes number one,” he said, with a grin. 

Carefully, Dick began making his way 
across. 

But a few feet separated him from the 
brink, when an ominous cracking sound rose 
sharply on the air. The tree began to sag in 
an alarming manner. 

With an exclamation of dismay, Dick let 
his gun drop, then, as he felt the support 
slipping from under him, gave a flying leap. 

As he did so, the trunk, split in twain, 
crashed to the bottom of the gully. Dick’s 
startled companions saw him frantically grasp 
hold of a low-hanging branch which projected 
over the brink of the chasm. Bending beneath 
his weight, it held him suspended in mid-air. 

“ Great Csesar ! ” cried Sam. “ If that 
breaks, he’ll get an ugly tumble.” 

“ Hang on tight ! ” yelled Bob, encoura- 
gingly. 

But Dick’s strong hands were holding with 
a firm grasp, and after the first moment of 


Winter Camp 147 

fear had passed, he glanced at the bottom of 
the gully, and, with a long breath, started to 
swing himself hand over hand to safety. 

The strain proved to be too much for the 
elastic branch. It began to bend, carrying 
the dangling boy in a graceful curve down- 
ward. Presently it snapped, with a resound- 
ing crack, and Dick found himself crashing 
through the twigs and branches of the pros- 
trate tree. 

The fall was but short, and being thus 
broken resulted in no harm. Dick immedi- 
ately extricated himself. 

“ All right, Dick ? ” called Bob, anxiously. 

“ Sound as a dollar. That tree must have 
lain there for ages — it's nothing but punk.” 

The bank was too steep to admit of climb- 
ing it, so Dick, after a moment’s consider- 
ation, picked up his gun and began walking 
slowly along the bottom of the gully. 

It was a most unpleasant necessity. Huge 
snow-drifts barred his way, and occasionally 
he floundered along almost waist-deep. How- 
ever, the gully soon widened out and its sides 
became less steep, 

A short distance further found the boys at 


148 The Rambler Club’s 


a place where all were able to reach the far 
side of the ravine. They were then obliged 
to go back for Dick Travers’ snow-shoes. 
After a brief halt for lunch, the three young 
hunters continued their march. 

“ Guess we won’t get a shot at any deer 
to-day,” remarked Bob. 

“We haven’t seen any of those wolves that 
Piper spoke about either,” said Dick. 

“ No — and I’m too hungry to care anything 
about them now,” observed Sam. “How many 
miles do you suppose we have come, anyway ? ” 

“ More than I care to think about. We’ll 
have to turn back pretty soon, or it may 
mean a nice, cold night out in the woods.” 

In a short time they emerged from amidst 
the timber and stood on the brink of a steep 
hill, which rounded somewhat like the sides 
of a huge amphitheatre. 

“ Hello, here’s a lake ! ” exclaimed Bob, as 
he saw an expanse of ice far below. 

“Don’t I wish it was Lake Wolverine? ” 
sighed Sam. 

“ Perhaps we have made a big circle,” said 
Dick, hopefully. 

“ It might be,” admitted Bob. “But there 


Winter Camp 149 

are a good many lakes in this part of the 
country. Anyway, let’s take a look at it.” 

They began to descend the slope of the hill, 
when an object to the left and some distance 
off attracted Bob’s attention. 

He drew forth his field-glass and took a 
long look. 

“ By jingo, if that doesn’t look like a sign- 
board, I’m mistaken,” he exclaimed. 

“ A sign-board out in this wilderness ? ” said 
Sam, incredulously. 

“ That’s what I said, Sam ; see for yourself.” 

“ If it isn’t one, it’s the nearest thing to it 
I ever saw,” admitted Sam, after a moment’s 
survey. “ It won’t take long to find out.” 

“ As sure as I live, it’s a sign,” exclaimed 
Dick, as they approached the object. 

Upon the top of a stout upright, a crosspiece 
had been nailed. On the latter, in rude, black 
letters, was painted this surprising notice : 

LAKE WOLVERINE 

Coasting , skating or falling down this 
hill more than forty miles an hour pro- 
hibited. 

Picnic parties must keep off the grass. 

No dogs allowed to run at large — 
wolves take notice. 


150 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ By all that’s wonderful, we’re right at our 
lake,” cried Bob, joyously. “ Isn’t that 
great ? ” 

“ Hurrah ! ” added Sam. “ We did circle 
around, after all.” 

“ Think of that tramp we’re saved,” put in 
Dick, with shining eyes. 

The strange wording of the sign-post was, 
for a moment, forgotten in the joy of their 
discovery. Then Bob began to laugh. 

“ This must be jokers’ paradise,” he ex- 
claimed. “Nice country for a picnic, eh?” 

“ The man who wrote that is certainly a 
backwoods wit,” grinned Sam. “ Say,” he 
continued, abruptly, “ I wonder if he’s the 
fellow who has been playing all those jokes 
on us.” 

The boys skirted along the edge of the hill 
until a favorable place for descending was 
found. Light-hearted at their unexpected 
good fortune, rapid progress was made 
and within a few minutes the lake was 
reached. 

“ We never saw this spot before, fellows,” 
observed Bob, with a glance around. 

“ That’s another ‘ undeniable fact,’ ” replied 


Winter Camp 151 

Sam, as he started off, with long, swinging 
strides. 

In half an hour, the scenery again became 
familiar, and the sight of the cabin across the 
lake cheered them on. 

“ Splendid luck, I call it,” panted Dick. 
“ Thought we had miles and miles to go, and 
here’s the camp — -just back of that ridge.” 

“ Hope the fellows have got something 
started,” said Bob. “ Hurrah,” he cried, as 
the point was rounded, “ the whole gang 
seems to be on deck, and there’s a jolly big 
fire to warm a fellow up.” 

“ Hello — hello ! ” hailed the others, when 
they caught a glimpse of the returning 
hunters. 

“ Christopher — a fox ! ” exclaimed Nat Win- 
gate, as they came up. 

“ Bully for you, fellows,” said Hackett, ap- 
provingly. “ We got a few things, too,” and 
he pointed to several rabbits and a brace of 
squirrels which lay on the snow. 

“ Another funny thing has happened, Bob,” 
put in Tom Clifton. 

“ What is that ? ” 

For an answer, Tom walked over and picked 


152 


The Rambler Club’s 


up a sheet of common brown paper which 
rested near the huts. On it was a rude draw- 
ing. 

“ When we got back, this was standing 
alongside of Hackett’s owl.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


ON THE TRAIL 

The three boys examined the paper with 
interest. It was about a foot square, and the 
lines had evidently been made with charcoal. 
This is the way it looked : 



“ A cryptogram ! ” exclaimed Bob. 

“ I wonder who left it ? ” added Dick. 

“ And what it means ? ” said Randall. 

“ Perhaps, if we work it out, it may tell us 
where to find our mysterious visitor,” went 
on Bob Somers. “ These things are getting 
more and more interesting. ” 

153 


154 The Rambler Club’s 

“ That was my idea ! ” exclaimed Nat Win- 
gate. 

“Maybe it’s just a bit of foolishness/’ put 
in Tom. 

“ No, I think it has a meaning. This fig- 
ure at the bottom may be one of our huts.” 

“ And those funny-looking spots above? ” 

“They look like trees to me; eh, Chubby?” 

The poet laureate lazily inclined his head. 

“ What’s that queer-shaped thing to the 
left?” 

“ Don’t know — got any ideas, ‘ Hatchet ’ ? ” 

“ Guess somebody has taken the crowd for 
a lot of chumps, and thinks they will be 
dunces enough to go off on a wild goose 
chase. It’s only those duffers across the lake 
— but they can’t fool me.” 

Bob laughed. “ We’ll study it out a bit, 
anyway. If we only knew in what direction 
to start, it wouldn’t take long to find out 
something.” 

Dave Brandon leaned over and scanned the 
mysterious paper carefully. 

“ Looks easy to me,” he drawled. “ That’s 
the door, eh ? — well, from the back of the hut 
we must go off at an angle for a half mile. 


Winter Camp 155 

Then, if three trees in a row are found, I 
guess we’ll be all right.” 

“ A large head on large shoulders,” grinned 
Nat. 

“ But say, fellows,” observed Bob Somers, 
with a sudden thought, “ of course you looked 
for tracks ? I suppose the visitor wore snow- 
shoes, though, and sometimes they don’t 
make much of a mark.” 

“ We started right in to hunt for them,” 
replied Dave Brandon. “ Had a little better 
luck than this morning, but the tracks led to 
the lake and ended. We walked around a 
bit, didn’t see anything, then gave it up.” 

” How do you know they weren’t made by 
some of us ? ” 

“ Because none of the fellows have been off 
that way.” Dave pointed out the direction. 

“ Guess you are right ! ” 

“ Well, there’s no way of telling which way 
he went after reaching the lake. So we must 
try to follow the thing up from this mysterious 
drawing.” 

“ All right, Chubby, we will.” 

“ Makes a fellow feel kind of creepy when 
he thinks that some one was prowling around 


156 The Rambler Club’s 

the camp early this morning,” observed Tom 
Clifton. “ If we only had a dog ” 

“ But not of the Bowser kind,” laughed Bob. 
“ I wish we could find out what it was that made 
those funny screeches,” he added, reflectively. 

“ The mystery may be solved before our trip 
is over,” said Dave Brandon, with a yawn. 
“ I won’t let it bother me.” 

“ But we don’t want to get chewed all to 
bits,” broke in Tom Clifton, nervously. 
“ Whew — hope we don’t hear those awful 
yells again to-night.” 

When the boys finally turned in, more than 
one lay awake for some time, listening in 
nervous apprehension for any indications of 
the strange beast. 

After breakfast next morning, Sladder and 
Musgrove put in an appearance. 

The stuffed wildcat had been propped up in 
front of Bob Somers’ hut, and, with its flat- 
tened head and glass eyes, wore a most ludi- 
crous expression. 

The Stony Creek boys looked at it in dumb 
amazement, and listened with open mouths as 
Nat Wingate, with many exaggerations, told 
about their early morning scare. 


*57 


Winter Camp 

“ Huh ! Ain’t that fierce ? ” exclaimed Mus- 
grove. 44 Never heard nothing to beat it. 
Nobody wouldn’t play no such game on me 
twicet. Was you skeered, Plackett?” 

“ Scared nothing ! ” returned John, with a 
flash in his eyes. 44 Say — my name is Hackett 
— H-a-c-k-e-t-t ! How many more times must 
I tell you ? ” 

44 I ain’t no good on rememberin’ names. 
But this beats me — it does — you heard that 
critter again ? ” and Musgrove gave a per- 
ceptible shiver. 

Bob Somers presently produced the rude 
scrawl and placed it before the visitors. 

44 Can you make anything out of that ? ” he 
asked, after explaining how it had come into 
their possession. 

44 Don’t look like nothing to me,” replied 
Tim Sladder, shaking his head. 

44 Search me,” added Musgrove, with an 
equally puzzled expression. 

In a few words, Bob gave their views on the 
subject. 

When he had finished, both Sladder and 
Musgrove seemed to be greatly impressed. 

All the members of the Rambler Club 


158 The Rambler Club’s 


strapped on their snow-shoes, and at the last 
moment Hackett and Nat Wingate decided to 
accompany them. 

Starting in a northwesterly direction, they 
began ascending.the thickly timbered hill back 
of the huts. Down on the other side and over 
another ridge they went, until at length a 
third elevation rose above them. 

“ Must have gone a half mile already,” said 
Hackett. 

“ We may see something from the top of 
this hill,” replied Bob, “ unless our reading of 
the thing was all wrong.” 

When, after another hard climb, the sum- 
mit was reached, all looked eagerly around. 

Below stretched a valley, hills enclosing it 
on three sides. 

“ Well, what did I tell you ? ” exclaimed 
Hackett, triumphantly, after an interval of 
silence. “ If anybody can spot something, 
now's the time to speak up and earn a vote of 
thanks.” 

The silence continued. 

“ Joke number nineteen,” went on Hackett, 
presently. “ When it gets to be about two 
hundred and six, I hope you fellows will 


Winter Camp 159 

take a grand tumble. It’s awful to see a 
crowd so easy.” 

“ Suppose we try to estimate the right 
distance, before we do anything else,” said 
Dave Brandon. 

“ Say — did anybody bring a tape meas- 
ure?” remarked Hackett. 

The boys took no notice of this speech, but 
began to compare notes regarding the dis- 
tance covered. After some little discussion 
and strolling about from place to place, it 
was agreed that they were about half a mile 
from camp. 

“ The best plan, now, is to walk around in 
a circle,” said Bob. “ No use to be easy, as 
Hackett says, and give the thing up.” 

“ All right — here we go,” said Musgrove. 
“ Come back, there, Bowser, an’ don’t get too 
frisky.” 

The group now started off at right angles 
to their former course. 

“ Keep your eyes open, fellows,” said 
Hackett, grandly, “or you may miss gittin 9 
fooled.” 

Musgrove gave the speaker a queer look, 
and his eyes snapped furtively. “ Wackett,” 


160 The Rambler Club’s 

he said, “ I’d be glad if it was you what got 
fooled on this. 1 My eye/ so I would.” 

A rather discouraging tramp followed. It 
was at length seen that the course they were 
taking would soon lead them out upon the 
lake. 

“What are you stopping for?” cried 
Hackett, as the others came to a halt. 
“ Keep right on — maybe it’s in the next 
state.” 

The boys laughed, and, a few moments 
later, were retracing their steps. They 
reached and passed the place at the summit 
of the hill, always endeavoring to maintain 
as closely as possible the half mile distance 
from their camp. 

“ Look at that whopping big boulder down 
there !” exclaimed Dick Travers, at length. 

“ I’ll bet that’s the very thing marked on 
the paper,” interposed Sam. 

“ Hurrah ! ” broke in Bob. “ Don’t you 
see three trees nearly in a row over there ? ” 

“ My eye, Scummers is right,” declared 
Musgrove, peering earnestly in the direction 
indicated. 

The boys were still on the edge of the 


Winter Camp 161 

valley, the boulder and three trees being 
several hundred yards down the slope. 

Hackett did not make any funny remarks 
at this juncture. 

“ What number joke is this ? ” asked Mus- 
grove, with a laugh, as the party began to make 
their way cautiously downward- over the 
snow-covered ground. “ ‘ My eye ! 1 Them is 
the trees.” 

Before long the boys approached three 
huge pines, which were standing almost in a 
row. 

We ought to find out something now,” ob- 
served Dick Travers. 

They struck off along the valley, moving 
rapidly over the snow in the direction indi- 
cated by the cryptogram. 

“ Hello ! ” exclaimed Sam, suddenly. 
“Smoke — rising above that copse of trees- — 
see it ? ” 

“ Right you are,” returned Bob. “ What 
do you think, now, ‘ Hatchet 1 ? ” 

“ Tell you later,” grinned John, not in the 
least abashed. 

Between the trees, a glimpse of a cabin was 
caught, and when the boys reached a clearing, 


162 


The Rambler Club’s 


they saw before them a substantial log struc- 
ture, with a single window. From a stove- 
pipe issued a whirling column of smoke. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Bob. “ We didn’t get left 
after all.” 

As he spoke, the door of the cabin was 
thrown open, and a tall, wiry-looking man, 
with a tawny moustache and stubby beard, 
appeared on the threshold. 

“ Powerful glad to see you, boys ! ” he ex- 
claimed, heartily. “ Honest Injun, though — 
never thought you know’d enough or would 
take the trouble ter git here. I’m John 
Yardsley, hunter an’ trapper, at your serv- 
ice.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


HUNTER AND TRAPPER 

The boys surveyed the speaker for a mo- 
ment with great interest. His appearance 
was rugged and honest, and a kindly light 
beamed from a pair of keen, gray eyes. Open 
air life had bronzed his skin until it was al- 
most as brown as an Indian’s. He stooped 
slightly, but all his movements showed that a 
life amid danger had made him exceedingly 
active and alert. 

“ I’m John Yardsley, at your service/’ he 
repeated, “ an’ powerful glad ter see yer. Step 
inter my office,” and he waved his hand to- 
ward the door. 

“ Well, Yardsley, we’re glad to meet you, 
too,” said Nat, with his old-time, easy famil- 
iarity. “ We’re the Bounding Brotherhood of 
Hunters — members, warble out your names.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed John Yardsley. 
“ Bounding Brotherhood, ha, ha ! Did you 
do some bounding yisterday mornin’ ? ” 

163 


164 The Rambler Club’s 

He broke into a short laugh, and pushed 
the door open to its fullest extent, while the 
boys crowded in. 

At one end of the interior, they saw 7 a big 
stove, and near the window a long table. A 
bunk occupied one corner, while several rude 
stools were scattered around. 

But what interested the visitors most of all 
were a number of stuffed animals and birds 
which rested on various shelves. Each was 
in a natural position and looked quite life- 
like with its yellow glass eyes. 

“This your work, Yardsley ? ” asked Nat, 
forgetting, for the moment, that he had in- 
tended to hurl forth a lot of questions. 

“ Everything mine,” answered the trapper, 
with a smile. 

“ And look at that moose’s head over the 
door,” said Bob, pointing to one with enormous 
antlers. 

“ Brung him down myself,” said the trap- 
per, “ and after as pretty a tussle as you’d 
want ter see. That was long ago. And here’s 
something else, young fellers.” 

He pointed to a corner of the room. The 
boys crowded over and saw r a number of clay 


Winter Camp 165 

modelings of animals, which made them open 
their eyes in astonishment. 

“ My eye ! A wildcat,” cried John Hack- 
ett, “ and natural as can be.” 

“ A wolf, too,” said Bob. “ That certainly 
is great.” 

“ Christopher, I wish I could do work like 
this,” put in Nat Wingate. 

The trapper smiled at their enthusiasm. 
“ Why shouldn’t I be able to make ’em ? ” he 
asked. “ Ain’t I seen them critters for years 
an’ years ? Ain’t I shot ’em — an’ trapped 
’em ? I ain’t got none too much book learnin’, 
mebbe, an’ who has ? ” he went on, “ but I 
can tell you a few things ’bout the woods, an’ 
the wild critters in ’em. Know the things 
about yer, that’s what I calls eddication.” 

The trapper spoke earnestly and continued 
to enlarge upon a theme which was evidently 
a favorite one with him. At length, how- 
ever, he paused, and asked the boys to tell 
him how they had managed to read his 
message. 

Bob complied with the request, explaining 
the matter briefly but clearly. 

At his conclusion, the trapper nodded ap- 


i66 


The Rambler Club’s 


provingly, and was about to make some re- 
mark, when Billy Musgrove suddenly blurted 
out, in his loud, impudent voice, “ See here, 
old sport, you was the feller what put a 
stuffed cat ill front of them chaps’ huts, eh ? ” 
John Yardsldy began to smile. 

“ I’ve got one failin’,” he admitted, “ an’ I 
can’t help it.” 

“ An’ you fired snowballs at ’em ? ” 
Yardsley chuckled. 

“ Well, see here ! ” Musgrove’s face as- 
sumed an angry expression. “ I don’t like 
them jokes — no, sir — it’s good that you didn’t 
try ’em on me an’ Tim Sladder — ’cause we 
don’t stand for nothing like that. No, sir 1 ” 
This very frank statement seemed to amuse 
the trapper hugely. He broke into a laugh. 
Then turning toward the others, he said, “ I 
seen you fellers several times, I guess, when 
you didn’t think no one was near. I can’t 
help jokin’. I hope you don’t take no of- 
fense, but I says to myself, ‘ A few little tricks 
an’ them fellers will pack up an’ git back to 
their own little firesides.’ ” 

“ Humph ! You didn’t think we had much 
sand, did you?” sniffed John Hackett. 


Winter Camp 167 

“ A feller without it ain’t got no business 
out in the woods. I was only a-testin’ of 
you.” 

“ I’m glad you didn’t do none of it on us,” 
remarked Musgrove. “ No, sir ! — Lay down, 
Bowser.” 

“ There’s another thing we’d like to know,” 
broke in Tom Clifton, rather timidly. “ Have 
you heard any strange cries lately ? Some ani- 
mal was prowling around our camp, and ” 

“ Strange cries ? ” echoed the trapper. 
“ What were they like ? ” 

“ Oh, awful — I can’t describe ’em.” 

“ Wust you ever listened to,” observed Tim 
Sladder. “ We heard ’em at our camp, too.” 

“ An’ it didn’t sound like no animal, or 
humans, either,” added Musgrove. 

“ Ah, ha ! This is interesting.” 

Yardsley seemed to reflect. 

“ We heard the beast twice,” said Hackett. 

“ Well, now,” continued Yardsley, “ kinder 
think I did hear something like that. Strange 
critter it must have been — -jest wait a second.” 

He opened a door and walked into an ad- 
joining room. Then the boys heard a peculiar 
click. 


168 The Rambler Club’s 


Just as the trapper emerged, with a broad 
smile on his face, a terrible series of wild, 
weird screeches, exactly like those they had 
heard before, filled the cabin. 

His visitors jumped to their feet in aston- 
ishment, while the effect upon Bowser was 
magical. Whining and whimpering, the big 
dog flopped heavily upon the floor at his 
master’s feet and looked intently into his 
face. 

“Was it something like that?” asked 
Yardsley, innocently. 

Sladder and Musgrove, with wildty staring 
eyes, looked toward the room as if fascinated, 
but upon all the others the truth instantly 
dawned, and they received it with varied 
feelings. 

“ A phonograph ! ” cried Bob. 

“ My eye ! A — a — phonograph ! ” echoed 
Hackett. 

Then Nat Wingate began to laugh, and all 
at once the absurdity of the whole thing ap- 
pealed irresistibly to most of the boys, and a 
wild burst of merriment rang out. 

Tim Sladder and Bilty Musgrove remained 
ominously silent. There was a steely glitter 


Winter Camp 169 

in the latter’s little blinking eyes, which 
seemed to say, — “ Look out ! ” 

“ I’m powerful glad you fellers ain’t took 
no offense,” grinned John Yardsley. “ I 
notice I come nigh to killin’ that dorg. I 
met one of them scientific fellers oncet. You 
know the kind what can tell how many hairs a 
squirrel’s got in its tail ? He was an animalist ; 
mebbe that ain’t the word, but he know’d every- 
thing. He stayed out in the woods a spell with 
me, one winter ; bunked right in here ; an’ he 
kinder took a fancy to yours truly. 

“ Well, I happened to run acrost him in 
town the next summer. 1 Yardsley,’ says he, 
1 you did play some awful jokes on me, out in 
the woods — it’s a wonder my hair ain’t gray.’ 
An’ he says, ‘ Yardsley, I’ve been having a 
lot of records took of different animals’ voices. 
I want to give you one of a laughing hyena 
— it reminds me so much of you ! ’ ” 

A titter went around the room. 

The trapper continued, “ ‘ It would make me 
feel better, Yardsley,’ he says, ‘ if you would 
take it an’ kinder test it on some one out in 
the woods. I don’t like ter feel I was the 
only one.’ ” 


170 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ An’ that’s jest what you done, eh, Pars- 
ley?” broke in Musgrove, shaking his head 
vigorously. “ An’ me an’ Tim didn’t sleep a 
wink all night — an’ all fer that, eh? An’ 
Bowser most took a spell. Well, I like it; 
yes, sir, I do — for a fact.” And Musgrove’s 
expression indicated a state of feeling exactly 
the reverse of his words. 

“ I’m powerful glad ter hear you say that,” 
remarked the trapper, with a sly wink at the 
others. “ That’s the way ter take them things, 


“ But don’t never try no more, Bardsley,” 
interrupted Musgrove, fiercely. “ We won’t 
stand fer it. No, sir, not me, — nor Tim, 
neither. No more jokin’ — mind yer.” 

“ All right ! ” responded Yardsley, with pre- 
tended meekness. “ I like ter hear a feller 
speak right out in meetin’. And by the way,” 
he continued, “ do you know them fellers 
’crost the lake? ” 

“ They came over to see us once,” replied 
Bob Somers. 

“ Wal, I don’t know nothing about ’em. 
They was nosing around yesterday morning, 
kinder curious like, an’ askin’ if I had many 


Winter Camp 171 

furs — but I ain’ tellin’ my affairs ter strangers 
nohow.” 

“ Been hunting and trapping long?” asked 
Nat. 

“ Wal, I guess ! I come from down East, 
an’ been at it off an’ on for quite a spell.” 

“How do you like it out here?” asked 
Hackett. 

“ Powerful well, my slim young friend. Say, 
with them legs you oughter be a good runner.” 

“ Maybe he’s a good runner, but he can’t 
skate with me,” interposed Musgrove. “ No, 
sir, I ” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Yardsley, with an 
amused glance at the other’s short stature. 
“ He can’t ! Why — say, I don’t believe — no 
offense, mind yer — that you could run with 
any feller in this crowd.” 

Billy Musgrove’s face flushed — his little 
eyes blinked angrily. 

“ You talk like an idjit, Pardsley,” he ex- 
claimed. “ I didn’t say I could run, but I 
ain’t skeered to try — no, sir — I ain’t.” 

“ Why not get up a little race ? Them two,” 
indicating Sladder and Musgrove, “ can try it 
first between ’em.” 


172 The Rambler Club’s 

“ I don’t mind,” said Tim Sladder ; “ eh, 
Billy ? ” 

“ Suits me,” grinned Musgrove. 

“ Might work up a little appetite fer lunch 
by having that race now,” suggested the trap- 
per, with a rather quizzical look. “ What 
say? Or if Musgrove’s kinder skeered, 
mebbe ” 

“ Skeered? I'll show you I ain’t skeered, 
Bardsley. No, sir ! Come on ! ” and Billy 
Musgrove strode toward the door. 

“ Good ! That’s the way ter feel about it. 
We’ll hev a little fun.” 

Just beyond the cabin was a clear patch of 
level ground. 

“ A good place for our games,” remarked 
Yardsley, rubbing his hands together. “ See 
that there tree over there? Round it and 
back. Here’s a line ter start from.” 

Grinning broadly, Tim Sladder and Billy 
Musgrove took their places, an expressive wink 
from the latter indicating his confidence. 

“ All ready ! One — two — three — go ! ” 

At the word, the Stony Creek boys were off. 
Musgrove, with all the vim and determination 
at his command, struggled through the snow, 


m 


Winter Camp 


and despite Sladder’s most desperate efforts, 
his longer legs seemed to give him but little 
advantage. 

“ Go it, Sladder ! ” yelled Hackett. 11 Hi, 
hi ! He’ll never make it.” 

“ That he won’t ! ” grinned the trapper. 

And now the two dark figures were ap- 
proaching the turning-point. 

“ Keep it up, Tim ! ” encouraged Hackett, 
at the top of his voice. 

Suddenly the spectators were treated to a 
most unusual sight. 

Both boys were seen to lurch forward, two 
wild yells floated over the air — then the con- 
testants, frantically waving their arms, plunged 
head first into a great pit filled to the brim 
with snow. 






CHAPTER XV 


A PRACTICAL JOKE 

This catastrophe was witnessed with much 
astonishment. 

“ Great Caesar — look at that ! ” cried Bob 
Somers. 

“ My eye ! Did you ever see such a tum- 
ble?” exclaimed Hackett. 

Then, as Sladder and Musgrove, almost up 
to their necks in the white mass, floundered 
and kicked to regain an upright position, 
Hackett, Nat Wingate and several of the oth- 
ers burst forth into the most uproarious peals 
of laughter. 

“ Bring a derrick,” roared Nat. “ Stand up 
straight, Musgrove. Don’t you know enough 
not to dive on land ? ” 

“ He thought he was in a swimming race ! ” 
cried Hackett. 

“ ’Tain’t right ter plague a feller that way,” 
reproved Yardsley, mildly. “ Powerful sin- 
174 


Winter Camp 175 

gular I didn’t happen ter mention that pit, 
ain’t it? I guess the race is over.” 

“ Lay on your back, and you won’t sink any 
further, Mushroom,” shouted Hackett. 

To all these remarks Sladder and Musgrove 
paid no attention. They were too busy extri- 
cating themselves from their unpleasant pre- 
dicament. Bowser had ambled to the edge 
of the pit, and, evidently realizing that some- 
thing was amiss, barked dolefully. 

At length, after having slipped and fallen 
several times, the two boys managed to reach 
solid ground. They brushed their clothes and 
came slowly back. 

The others had expected to see Musgrove 
explode with wrath, but besides a queer ex- 
pression in his small, blinking eyes, his pudgy 
face gave no evidence of anger. 

“ Got ahead of us that time, Pardsley,” he 
observed. “ I ain’t saying what I think of 
nobody — no, sir — don’t want to start a free 
fight, but say ” — Billy Musgrove paused, 
the queer look in his eyes deepened, “ there’s 
goin’ ter be some fun ’round these diggin’s 
’fore I leave — an’ don’t you forgit it.” 

“ Powerful glad ter hear that,” declared the 


176 The Rambler Club’s 


trapper. “ You kinder tempted me, the way 
you talked, a spell back. It’s a failin' I've 
got. Now I want all hands ter grub with me." 

The boys were soon compelled to acknowl- 
edge that John Yardsley was certainly a good 
cook. Baked beans, roasted potatoes, and 
venison steak done to a crisp turn were set 
before them, besides steaming coffee and hard- 
tack. At the last, to their great satisfaction, 
came buckwheat cakes and maple syrup. 

Under the cheering influence of the fire and 
a company of lively boys, John Yardsley be- 
gan to grow confidential. He freely admitted 
his superiority in skill over the majority of 
hunters and trappers. 

“ I study it, an' make a business of it, — 
that is I do for the present," he said, rubbing 
his hands together and tilting back in his 
chair, “ an’ I ain’t done bad this season." 

“ Got lots of furs and skins, Spardsley ? " 
inquired Musgrove, taking time enough to 
look up from his plate. 

“ Mebbe — mebbe not." 

“ Ain’t that jest what you said ? " 

“ You’re a keen youngster, ain’t yer ? " 

“ I’m smarter than some people." 


i 7 7 


Winter Camp 

“ Powerful glad ter hear it. One of these 
days I’ll take ye boys around when I visit 
my traps, — only one at a time, mind ye. A 
hull lot might scare the critters away fur a 
month. Who wants ter go ? ” 

“ I do,” said Bob, quickly. 

“ Being as it’s you who spoke fust, you're 
number one,” returned the trapper, nodding 
toward him. 

“ Good ! You’ll find me ready any time.” 

After the meal, Yardsley exhibited a num- 
ber of beaver, otter and mink skins stretched 
out tightly on boards to dry. He also called 
attention to a curious piece of furniture stand- 
ing in one corner. A section of a tree had 
been hollowed out, and the interior fitted with 
a number of shelves, which contained various 
objects collected in the woods. There were 
butterflies, moths and dragon flies, besides a 
number of minerals and stones. 

“ As I said afore,” remarked the trapper, 
seating himself, “ I ain’t got as much book 
learnin’ as I’d like,” he smiled curiously, 
“ but ask me somethin’ about trees, or birds, 
or animals, an’ well — mebbe I could make 
some of your dandified professors look cheap, 


178 The Rambler Club’s 

if they was here. Eddication, I call it, is 
Tamin' about the things ’round you — var- 
mints and sich like — an’ my friend, the ani- 
malist, said so, too.” 

“ There’s one thing you can do, all right, 
Bardsley,” interrupted Musgrove. 

“ What’s that?” 

“ Talk a fierce streak — I never heard noth- 
ing like it.” 

Yardsley laughed good-naturedly. “ It’s 
another failin’, mebbe,” he admitted. “ Now 
I’m goin’ ter spin some yarns.” 

These proved so interesting, that it was not 
until the late afternoon that the boys took 
their leave. 

“ An’ look here, Jardsley,” remarked Mus- 
grove, at parting, “ don’t try no funny tricks 
now. We won’t stand for none — no, sir — not 
me — nor Tim, neither.” 

“ You certainly bit easily on one joke, 
Mushroom,” remarked Hackett, when Yards- 
ley’s hut was lost to view behind the trees. 

“ Huh ! You needn’t talk ! I never 
slammed no glass-eyed cat ! ” retorted Billy, 
and for the rest of the way there was no 
further conversation between the two. 


CHAPTER XVI 

yardsley’s traps 

A week passed without special incident. 

Piper, Robson and Heydon also made the 
acquaintance of the trapper, and all the hunt- 
ers spent an evening in the cabin across the 
lake. 

It became known that Yardsley had a fine 
collection of furs, which he intended to take 
to town very shortly. This fact had been as- 
certained by Charlie Piper, who, for purposes 
of speculation, wished to purchase a number 
of skins. But the price offered was too low 
to suit the trapper. 

At the appointed time, Bob Somers tapped 
on the cabin door. 

“ Glad ter see you, cap’n ! ” exclaimed the 
woodsman, heartily, holding out his strong, 
sinewy hand. “ In two shakes of a lamb’s 
tail, I’ll be ready.” 

“ Think we’ll have snow before long ? ” 
asked Bob. 


179 


i8o 


The Rambler Club’s 


Yardsley glanced out of the window at a 
sullen, lowering sky. “ Snow — an’ plenty of 
it,” he announced. “ An’ lucky if it ain’t a 
blizzard. Never seen one out here — eh, cap’n ? 
— No ? — Wal, a fair-sized northwester oughter 
satisfy yer fur a while — talk about wind and 
snow — it’s fierce, an’ no mistake.” 

“ We might get snowed up.” 

“ ’Tain’t at all unlikely.” 

Yardsley now rapidly led the way toward 
the creek which Bob and his companions had 
previously followed. Once there, he moved 
with more caution. 

“ Ter be a good trapper, a man has ter be 
powerful particular,” he said. “ Wild critters 
is certainly knowin’. Yer got ter under- 
stand ’em, an’ l’arn their ways. I’ve got 
traps out fur minks, beavers, otter, muskrats 
an’ foxes.” 

“ Which are the hardest to catch ? ” asked 
Bob. 

“Otter, p’r’aps! Minks is easier, bein’ as 
the3'’re sich hungr}^ beasts, an’ will take a 
chance when others might git scared off. Be 
careful, cap’n, we’re cornin’ ter a trap, now.” 

At a convenient place, Yardsley led the way 


Winter Camp 181 

up the bank, avoiding with great skill the 
various obstacles with which the ground was 
strewn. Still keeping near the watercourse, 
they soon reached a confused heap of branches 
and logs. 

“ Right on that big log, cap’n.” 

“ I don't see anything but a lot of twigs 
and bushes,” said Bob. 

“ It’s there, all right,” chuckled Yardsley. 
“ But it has ter be kep’ out of sight. Wait 
here, cap’n.” 

The trapper went cautiously forward, step- 
ping around the log, from the top of which 
the snow had been partly blown away. 

“ Nary a thing,” he announced, after a mo- 
ment’s inspection. 

“ Better luck at the next one, perhaps,” 
said Bob. 

“ I ain’t a-worryin’ — we’ll git back on the 
ice.” 

They followed the winding stream for some 
distance, when Yardsley again slackened his 
pace. 

“ Easy, cap’n ! ” he exclaimed. “ ’Round 
here is regular otterville. See that there hole 
in the ice? Well, the critters has used it ter 


182 The Rambler Club’s 

come out on shore. So I sinks my trap, 
an’ ” 

“ And what? ” 

“ Wal — I’ll show yer in a minute — if I’ve 
struck luck.” 

From back of a mass of underbrush close 
by, Yardsley pulled a stout stick curved at 
the end. This he pushed through the hole 
in the ice, and a grunt of satisfaction escaped 
his lips. 

With a couple of vigorous pulls, he brought 
to the surface a fine large otter. 

“ How’s that fur one ? ” he remarked, as he 
disengaged the animal from the trap and 
laid it in the ice. 

“ It’s a whopper,” said Bob, enthusias- 
tically, “ and what a beautiful bluish gray 
coat. Don’t they kill lots of fish, John ? ” 

“ A powerful number, cap’n. An’ brings 
’em ashore ter eat. The little rascal is awful 
wasteful, too, sometimes leavin’ ’em ’most 
untouched.” 

The trapper rebaited the trap, which was 
attached by means of a chain to a stone, and 
lowered both in the water again. 

“ Where are we going now? ” asked Bob. 


Winter Camp 183 

“ Follow the stream fur a piece. I’ve got 
more traps along here.” 

John Yardsley returned the stick to its 
hiding-place, then, as they started off, began 
to talk about the habits of the various 
animals. 

“ Powerful knowin’ critters,” he observed. 
“ Take beavers, which lives along rivers an’ 
ponds, for instance. A hull lot of these 
critters will git together an’ build houses of 
mud, stones an’ sticks. Their teeth are very 
hard and sharp, an’ they don’t have much 
trouble cuttin’ all the wood they want. 
Then, if the water ain’t right, they dam it up 
with the same stuff as the huts is made of.” 

“ Isn’t the entrance under water ? ” asked 
Bob. 

“ Alius ! So that other critters can’t git at 
’em. In the spring, they come out, an’ 
ramble off ; an’ mebbe it’s autumn before they 
says ter each other, 1 It’s time ter git back ter 
them huts of ourn an’ fix ’em up fur the 
winter.’ ” 

“ Muskrats build places pretty much the 
same, only smaller,” said Bob. 

“ Yes, but martens lives in the deepest parts 


184 The Rambler Club’s 

of the woods, while fishers an’ minks hang 
out along streams an’ marshes. I’ve seen a 
fisher a-sittin’ on a stone, lookin’ in the 
water, an’ waitin’ fur his dinner ter pass by. 
All of a sudden, he went ker flump — there 
was a splash — an’ yer can bet he got his 
fish.” 

After a short pause, Yardsley continued, 
“ But here we are, cap’n, at another trap.” 

This proved to be along the bank, and 
cleverly concealed in the midst of a tangled 
growth. But although it had been sprung 
the animal had managed to get away. 

The next one, however, held captive a 
good-sized mink. 

“ Not so bad, an’ we may get some more 
yet,” commented Yardsley. “ I’m powerful 
afear’d we’re goin’ ter have some pretty tough 
weather,” he added, with a look at the sullen 
sky. 

“ I say, John,” asked Bob, with a sudden 
thought, “ didn’t you put up a sign overby 
Lake Wolverine?” 

Yardsley grinned. “ Jokin’ is a little failin’ 
I have, as I told you afore,” he said. “ You’ll 
run acrost several of ’em ’round these parts. 


Winter Camp 185 

I’m powerful glad, cap’n, that you fellers 
didn’t git mad.” 

“ I thought Sladder and Musgrove would 
be wild when they got dumped into that pit,” 
remarked Bob. 

The trapper laughed as he recalled the 
scene. “ If them kids hadn’t been so sassy, I 
wouldn’t have done it,” he said. “ I thought 
one of ’em needed a lesson, anyway.” 

“ Here’s the snow ! ” cried Bob, at length. 

“ Slow — very slow — an’ sure,” added the 
trapper. 

They had reached the gloomy depths of a 
dense wood. Here and there were great 
boulders of odd shapes, and their rugged ap- 
pearance added to the desolation of the 
scene. 

As they passed one of these, a long, low 
growl suddenly caused them to turn. But a 
few paces distant stood a huge wildcat. Its 
paws rested on a partly devoured rabbit, and, 
angry at being disturbed, the animal crouched 
low, while its long tail moved slowly forth 
and back. 

With flattened ears and glaring eyes, it 
presented a terrifying sight, and, thoroughly 


186 The Rambler Club’s 


startled, Bob Somers involuntarily stepped 
backward. 

“ Leave it to me ! ” yelled Yardsley. 

But as he spoke, the dull, tawny-colored 
animal, with a snarl, sprang directly toward 
Bob Somers. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SMOKE SIGNALS 

“ Oh, ho, what are we going to do, fellows ?” 
asked Dave Brandon, lazily, to Dick Travers 
and Tom Clifton, as they sat warming them- 
selves before a cheerful fire. 

“ I don’t think we ought to stray very far 
from camp,” said Tom Clifton. “ Looks as if 
there was going to be a big snow-storm.” 

“ An ‘ undeniable fact,’ ” put in Dick, with 
a grin. 

“ And if it’s anything like the kind that 
Riggs, Junior, spoke about, Tom is right,” said 
Dave. “ For my part, I’d sooner sit by a 
nice, big fire, anyway, than trot around over 
a lot of barren hills.” 

“ You don’t have to tell us that, Chubby,” 
laughed Dick. 

“ No, I suppose not.” The stout boy yawned 
and shifted his position slightly. “ I haven’t 
been able to write a single bit since I came 
187 


188 The Rambler Club’s 


out here,” he grumbled, more to himself than 
to the others. 

“ Why not ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Too cold — and, whenever I begin, Billy 
Musgrove’s face seems to bob right up in front 
of me.” 

“ What has that to do with it? ” 

“ See here, Dick Travers,” observed Dave, 
with mock severity, “ could any one have an 
inspiration and think of Billy Musgrove’s face 
at the same time ? ” 

Dick grinned. “ It kind of takes the poetry 
out of the scene,” he suggested. 

“ Exactly. Hello ” 

“ Looks like smoke signals across the way. 
Wonder if anything’s up? ” 

The three boys stared intently toward the 
cabin, a mere brownish spot against the back- 
ground of trees. 

Sure enough. A cloud of grayish smoke, 
in a rather solid mass, rose lazily in the air, 
light against the firs and dark as it emerged 
into the expanse of sky above. 

“ There goes another ! ” exclaimed Tom, in 
some excitement. 

“ Sure as you live, it’s a signal,” put in 


Winter Camp 189 

Dick, as a third slowly appeared. “ Guess 
we’ll have to skip over. Something may have 
happened.” 

“ Certainly we will,” grumbled Dave. “ And 
just as I thought of getting a nice rest by the 
fire. Hello — gun signals, too,” he added, as 
a faint report came from the distance. 

“ Hurry up, fellows ! Strap on your skates ! ” 
cried Dick, excitedly. “ We must see about 
this. Somebody hurt, do you think?” 

“ It isn’t far across, and we’ll soon know,” 
replied Dave. 

Down to the lake the trio quickly made 
their way, and then, with long, swinging 
strides, began to skim swiftly over the frozen 
surface. As they approached the cabin, many 
eager looks were cast toward it. 

“ There’s somebody at the door now,” panted 
Dave Brandon. 

A dark figure had appeared, and an instant 
later a hail reached their ears, which was an- 
swered by a lusty chorus from the skaters. 

“ I hope I haven’t put you fellows to any 
inconvenience, or given you a scare,” said 
Fulmer Robson, as the trio breathlessly ap- 
proached. 


190 The Rambler Club’s 

“Nothing has happened, I hope?” panted 
Tom. 

“ No — nothing serious. But come inside, 
boys, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

The interior of the cabin had been made 
comfortable and cozy. In one corner was a 
stove, while several rude seats were distributed 
around. Against one wall stood a long table. 

“ Make yourselves comfortable,” said Rob- 
son, drawing a stool alongside the stove, which 
was sending forth a pleasant heat. “ I w T ould 
have come over to your camp,” he added, 
“ but I have a bad headache. What I wanted 
you for is this. There’s a pack of wolves 
around the neighborhood, and I thought you 
ought to know it.” 

“ Wolves? ” echoed Tom Clifton, paling a 
trifle. 

“ Yes ! We had a sight of them yesterday 
afternoon — not far from here, too. A pack of 
the brutes were after a deer. Hey don and I 
had reached the top of a hill when we discov- 
ered them, and, as we had a field-glass, we 
saw the whole thing.” 

“ What happened?” asked Tom, eagerly. 

“ It looked as if the wolves had chased the 


Winter Camp 191 

deer for a long distance, for he seemed ’most 
played out. Three of the brutes flung them- 
selves upon him at once, and — well, you can 
guess the rest.” 

“ How far away was this? ” asked Dave. 

“ Not more than two miles.” 

“ We are certainly much obliged to you,” 
put in Dick Travers. “ It wouldn’t do to be 
unprepared, if they happen to come along.” 

“ I should say not. Wolves are bad cus- 
tomers at this time of the year. I suppose,” 
added Robson, with a smile, “ you thought 
something terrible had happened ? ” 

“ Yes, we did,” admitted Dick. “ Where 
are the other fellows — how did you manage to 
make that signal alone ? ” 

“ They just left, a short time ago,” answered 
Robson. “ The weather looks pretty threat- 
ening, doesn’t it? Well, we concluded that it 
would be best to get in as much game as pos- 
sible.” 

“ Do you think it’s going to be as bad as all 
that?” asked Tom Clifton, anxiously. 

“ It’s hard to say ; after all, it may be noth- 
ing worse than an ordinary snow-storm. But 
we got caught once, and don’t propose to let 


1 9 2 


The Rambler Club’s 


such a thing happen again. I expected the 
whole crowd of you,” he added, with a ques- 
tioning glance. 

Dave explained the situation. 

“Oh, that’s it,” remarked Robson, reflect- 
ively. “ On your way back, you might tell 
Sladder and Musgrove about the wolves. 
And b}' the way,” he added, “ I haven’t much 
use for those fellows. Frankly, I don’t like 
either.” 

“ They always treated us well,” replied 
Dave, evasively. 

“ Oh, I don’t want you to say anything 
against ’em,” laughed Robson, “ but Billy 
Musgrove by all odds is the most impudent 
chap I ever ran across. We had a scrap the 
other day — he kept calling me ‘ Robson,’ and 
Piper, ‘ Swiper.’ We got kind of sore, and 
Billy then fired off*, sassing all three of us right 
and left.” 

“ Musgrove never gets names straight,” ob- 
served Dick, with a grin. 

“ It’s beginning to snow,” broke in Tom, 
“ and the wind is coming up, too.” 

The sky was unusually dark and threatening; 
it seemed almost like approaching twilight. 


‘93 


Winter Camp 

An anxious expression came into Dick 
Travers’ face, and Tom, too, surveyed the 
scene apprehensively, but the poet laureate’s 
round features seemed only to reflect content, 
as he resumed his place before the fire. 

“ I’ll bet it will be a howler,” said Tom 
Clifton. 

“ And that we get snowed up for a week,” 
grumbled Dick. 

“ Why not add a visit or two from wolves, 
while you are about it? ” put in Robson, with 
a laugh. 

“ Nothing like looking at things all around,” 
yawned Dave. “ I feel uncommonly sleepy.” 

“ You’d better have lunch with me,” pro- 
posed Robson. “ It will make my head feel 
better. Only wish the rest of your crowd was 
here,” he added. “ Fall to, boys, and give me 
a hand.” 

At length, however, the thought that the 
other boys might have returned induced the 
three members of the Rambler Club to bring 
their visit to a close. 

“ Oh, ho, I’m afraid we’ll have to go, fel- 
lows,” said Dave Brandon, with a grimace. 
“ Just think of having to face that wind.” 


>94 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Sorry you have to leave," observed Robson. 

“ Not half so sorry as we are," drawled 
Dave, with a dubious look outside. 

Once out upon the lake, a succession of 
furious gusts swept toward them, accompanied 
by whirling clouds of fine, needle-like parti- 
cles. Presently, they were in the thick of it, 
and found themselves, for the moment, com- 
pelled to turn their backs to the storm. 

“ Whew ! This is certainly fierce/' panted 
Dick. “ We ought to get there pretty soon, 
however." 

The storm did not increase, as the boys' 
fears led them to expect. Instead, the fall of 
snow soon began to lessen, and only where 
there happened to be irregularities in the ice 
did the flakes find a resting-place. 

“ Hurrah, I see the shore," burst forth Dick, 
at length. “ Let's make a spurt." 

This the trio proceeded to do, and they were 
soon tramping over the snow toward the 
camp. 

Startling news awaited them. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WHO TOOK THE FURS? 

Taken altogether by surprise, Bob Somers 
was, for an instant, almost incapable of mo- 
tion. He saw the long, lithe body spring 
forward and heard the harsh, rasping snarl. 
Then, with a strong effort, he recovered his 
wits — like a flash his rifle was raised and 
fired. 

Blending with the report came a terrific 
cry of fury and pain. 

But the wildcat was only wounded. In 
his haste and alarm, Bob had not been able 
to reach a vital spot. The animal fell, but 
almost instantly rose. 

“ Give me a chance ! ” yelled Yardsley. 
“ Skip around that there rock, an’ I’ll 
finish ’im.” 

But before the boy could comply, the wild- 
cat, with an infuriated screech, sprang forward 
again. 

Taking his gun by the barrel, Bob Somers 
195 


196 The Rambler Club’s 

swung it with all his strength. The animal, 
dealt a glancing blow, was checked — -just long 
enough for Bob to dart around the rock. 
Almost at his heels came the snarling wildcat. 

In and out among the trees the two went, 
while Yardsley followed, unable to shoot for 
fear of hitting his companion. 

With a glance over his shoulder, Bob once 
more jumped aside, and again his gun rose 
and fell. 

John Yardsley, leaping over the snow, 
reached the spot where the wildcat, scarcely 
stunned by Bob Somers’ last blow, was pre- 
paring to make another spring. 

“ I’ve got ’im ! ” he cried. 

A sharp report rang out. Rising to his 
haunches, in a last desperate effort, the wild- 
cat lurched over, and fell at full length mo- 
tionless in the snow. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Bob. “ Thanks, John,” 
and he clasped the hunter’s big hand. 
“ Ugh ! Thought he had me.” He shivered, 
as his eyes rested upon the savage head and 
dangerous-looking claws. 

“ Powerful bad critters when they get their 
dander up,” commented Yardsley, giving the 


Winter Camp 197 

beast a shove with his toe. “ What’s ter be 
did with the varmint?” 

“Don’t you want it?” Bob’s voice still 
trembled with excitement. 

“ I reckon not.” 

“ Then I’ll have him stuffed,” said Bob. 
“ Won’t that be great ? Only wish I’d got 
him myself,” he added, half regretfully. 

“ You orter be glad he didn’t get you,” 
observed the trapper, dryly. “ Now, I’ll 
make a drag. Twenty-five or thirty pounds 
of cat meat would be a little too much ter 
carry.” 

Yardsley strode forward, and selecting an 
ash of suitable thickness — of course it was a 
mere sapling— quickly felled and trimmed it. 
Then he cut it into two pieces of equal 
length. 

“ Pitch in an’ get me some short bits fur 
the cross-bars, cap’n,” he said, handing Bob 
the hatchet. “ We’ll have it fixed in a 
minute.” 

As soon as Bob Somers had complied with 
his request, the trapper laid the two pieces of 
ash parallel on the ground, then three cross- 
bars were quickly fastened in place. 


198 The Rambler Club’s 

“ Want anything better than that ? ” he de- 
manded, with a grin. “ I’ll jest cut them ’ere 
ends, so’s ter make ’em lift off the snow like 
runners.” 

“ Have you a rope to pull it with ? ” asked Bob. 

“ Catch John Yardsley a-comin’ out un- 
prepared ? I reckon not. Guess we’d better 
hit the trail fur camp,” he added. 

The wildcat, otter and other game were 
securely attached to the drag, which was not 
difficult to pull over the snow-crusted ground. 

After making a long circuit, the winding 
stream was again reached, and, at length, the 
cabin in the valley came into view. 

“ Reckon you air powerful glad ter git 
back, cap’n ? ” observed the trapper. “ I’ll 
fix the skin of that there critter, an’ ” 

Yardsley suddenly paused, and gazed in- 
tently toward the cabin, while a puzzled, 
alarmed expression passed over his rugged 
features. 

“ I’m sartin sure ” he began. 

“ Sure of what ? ” asked Bob, surprised at 
his companion’s manner. 

“ That I shut the door of that storehouse. 
Sure as guns is guns, I did, an’ ” 


i 9 9 


Winter Camp 

Yardsley did not finish the sentence, but 
fairly tore over the snow, while Bob, leaving 
the sled, followed close at his heels. 

At one end of the log house a small addi- 
tion had been built for the purpose of storing 
furs and skins. There was an entrance on 
the outside, and it was this which now stood 
slightly open. 

“ As sure as guns is guns,” repeated the 
woodsman, excitedly, “ I shut that ’ere door, 
an’ shut it tight.” 

He hastily entered the storehouse, and at a 
glance his worst fears were realized. 

“ Gone — every blessed one ! ” he groaned. 
“ Not a thing left ! ” 

“ Robbed ? ” gasped Bob Somers. “ How 
many did you have ? ” 

“ A powerful number, cap’n.” 

Yardsley stood perfectly still and gazed 
around with a dazed air. 

“ Every blessed one,” he repeated. “ An’ I 
was ’most ready ter take ’em ter town.” His 
arms dropped to his side, and he looked to- 
ward Bob Somers in the utmost dejection. 

“ Well, we can’t do any good standing here,” 
cried Bob. “ Let’s investigate and get after ’em.” 


200 


The Rambler Club’s 


“That’s the idea!” exclaimed Yardsley, 
his look of dismay giving place to one of in- 
tense anger. 

“ Jest let me come up with them rascals, 
that’s all.” He made an expressive motion, 
then darted outside, his eyes roving over the 
ground. 

“ Carted ’em away on a big sled,” he ex- 
claimed. “ See, cap’n — tracks as plain as the 
nose on yer face. An’ the rascals was on 
snow-shoes.” 

“ I’ll skip over to camp and get some of the 
fellows!” cried Bob. “Then the whole 
crowd can follow.” 

“ Good, cap’n, an’ John Yardsley won’t for- 
git it. By the time yer gits back I’ll hev a 
bite ter eat. With a storm a-comin’, an’ no 
tellin’ what may be afore us, ’twouldn’t do by 
no means ter go off on an empty stummick.” 

But Bob Somers had not waited to hear his 
last words. Although the morning’s tramp 
had been a rather long one, he moved over 
the ground at a rapid rate, and, panting from 
his exertions, at length reached the camp just 
as the others came in. 

“ What’s the matter, Somers, you look 


201 


Winter Camp 

scared — any fierce rabbits get after you ? ” 
asked Nat Wingate, winking at Hackett. 

“ Yardsley’s been robbed of his furs,” said 
Bob. “ Not one of ’em left ! ” 

“ Robbed ? ” echoed Nat, in astonishment. 
“ How — when?” 

“ Whew ! That’s mighty funny ! ” ex- 
claimed Sam Randall. “Robbed? I can 
hardly believe it.” 

“ It’s true ! — Who wants to come along and 
help us trail the thieves? ” 

“ Well now ! ” Hackett paused and a fierce 
expression came into his eyes. “ After amus- 
ing himself at our expense, he’s got a fine 
nerve to ask us to help him — still,” he went 
on, “ speak your little piece, Somers, and 
we’ll decide.” 

This Bob did, briefly, and at its conclusion 
Hackett again spoke up. “ I feel sorry for 
the old man,” he announced. “ I’ll go. 
There’s a chance for some excitement, too.” 

“ So will I,” added Sam Randall, eagerly. 
“ Here come Chubby and the rest. Won’t 
they be surprised ? ” 

Dave Brandon and his companions were 
seen making their way toward the camp. 


202 The Rambler Club’s 

As they came up, Hackett shouted out the 
news. 

Dick Travers gave a whistle of astonish- 
ment, while Tom, believing that some joke 
was intended, began to laugh. 

But Bob Somers quickly told his story 
again, and the astonished boys were given a 
chance to decide what they wanted to do. 
The question was almost immediately settled. 

In brief, Nat Wingate, Dave Brandon and 
Tom Clifton concluded that their services 
were not required. The others hastily pre- 
pared to take their departure. Bob, who had 
already been helping himself to everything 
eatable in sight, drank a cup of coffee which 
had fortunately been left over, filled his 
pockets with crackers, and followed the al- 
ready retreating forms of Hackett, Randall 
and Travers. 

“ Come on ! ” cried the slim boy. “ The 
snow isn’t falling half as fast as it was.” 

The three who stood by the fire gazed after 
them in a disconsolate fashion. 

“ I wonder what is going to happen now ? ” 
said Nat Wingate, as the four figures were 
lost to view. 


CHAPTER XIX 


LOST IN THE SNOW 

Bob and his companions found the hunter 
pacing up and down the cabin in a state of 
great agitation. 

“ I was jest about gittin’ off,” he exclaimed. 
“ Thought you’d never come. Them rascals 
will give us the slip yit.” 

“ Who could have robbed you, Yardsley ? ” 
demanded Hackett. “ It’s pretty tough luck, 
eh ? ” 

“ Bless you — yes ! When I seed that door 
open, I know’d something had happened. 
An’ I could hev sold them skins ter Piper, 
too. Never heard the beat of it.” 

11 Have you seen any suspicious characters 
around ? ” 

“ Nary one ! ” 

“ It’s mighty queer that somebody should 
happen along just while you were out. They 
must have been watching the place pretty 
closely, eh ? ” 


203 


204 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Most likely ! ” 

“ My eye ! There’s the wildcat. Why, it’s 
a whopper, Somers ” 

“ Come on, cap’n an’ mates,” interrupted 
Yardsley, impatiently. “ Let’s be off! ” 

In a few minutes, the party, with the trap- 
per in the lead, were swiftly following the 
trail which led across the valley. 

“ Them tracks is purty fresh,” said Yards- 
ley, “ an’ we oughter gain on ’em fast. Every 
blessed pack of furs gone.” 

“ You haven’t lost ’em altogether yet,” put 
in Hackett. “ If this snow-storm doesn’t 
turn into a blizzard, there’s a chance of get- 
ting the whole bunch back.” 

“ A blizzard’s jest what I am afear’d of,” 
commented the other. “ It’s Mowin’ purty 
fresh now.” 

Up-hill and down, scarcely slackening their 
pace, they kept along, the tracks of the sled 
being plainly visible. They were sunk to an 
unusual depth, showing how heavily it had 
been laden. 

The snow was again coming down thicker, 
and in that steady fashion which indicated a 
deep fall. In through a dense pine woods 


Winter Camp 205 

the trail led, then turned abruptly toward the 
lake. 

“ The rascals will give us a purty chase,” 
grumbled Yardsley. “ Gittin’ tired, boys ? ” 

“ I don’t know about the others, but Fm 
not/’ replied Hackett. “ I can give you ten 
feet start, and catch up, any time.” 

“ Good for you,” and Yardsley, bending 
forward, increased his pace. 

Everybody had expected that the tracks 
would lead directly to Lake Wolverine, but 
this did not prove to be the case. About a 
quarter of a mile from the shore, they veered 
off sharply in a northwesterly direction, and, 
unfortunately, this made traveling all the 
more difficult. 

Whirling clouds of snow dashed in their 
faces and gusts of wind bore down upon them, 
but none uttered a word of complaint, as they 
plunged doggedly along, straining eyes and 
ears to catch any signs of the thieves. 

“ It’s turnin’ inter a reg’lar blizzard,” 
groaned Yardsley. “ Them tracks is gittin’ 
lost a’ready.” 

“ Keep it up,” urged Bob. 

“ Don’t fear, cap’n. You’ll never ketch 


206 The Rambler Club’s 

me a-givin’ up while thar’s the slightest 
chance.’' 

“ If it would only hold up for a few min- 
utes, even,” panted Dick Travers, as they 
paused for a moment in a deep ravine. 

“ It’s going to be worse before it’s better, 
Dick,” said Hackett. “ Whew ! Listen to 
the wind in those trees.” 

“ And we can’t see very far ahead, now,” 
broke in Sam. “ It’s getting thicker every 
minute.” 

“ That it is, mate. Never calc’lated it 
would be ragin’ like this so soon,” and there 
was a tone in the trapper’s voice which seemed 
to indicate that he had begun to have little 
hope of success. 

On the crest of another hill, they could 
scarcely stand against the terrific blasts which 
swept along, carrying with them clouds of 
feathery particles. It was bitterly cold and 
the darkness unusual, even for a heavy winter 
storm. The valley was entirely lost to view. 

Enveloped in the whirling masses, the boys 
followed the trapper, whose form loomed up 
dimly in front. Now and then, he stooped to 
examine the trail, and occasionally encour- 


207 


Winter Camp 

aged them to renewed exertions, but the dis- 
heartening fact that the deep impressions 
must be speedily lost was apparent to all. 

Faint as his hope was, however, Yardsley 
kept swinging along. Sure-footed, and ac- 
customed to the woods, he got around the un- 
derbrush and fallen limbs in a manner that 
the others could not imitate. 

Half blinded by the flakes, battered by the 
violent wind, they struggled along. Several 
times the wind veered sharply around and 
the boys no longer had an accurate idea 
of their direction. Every minute found 
them facing more discouraging conditions. 
Branches and twigs frequently came rattling 
about them and their progress was greatly 
impeded. Thus the pursuit continued for a 
long time. 

Yardsley at length redoubled his efforts, 
pushing steadily forward, with great strides, 
so as to take advantage of the few minutes 
which remained before the trail would be en- 
tirely obliterated. 

Suddenly Dick Travers pointed ahead, and 
uttered an exclamation. 

Scarcely visible through the driving snow 


208 


The Rambler Club’s 


was an object which had neither the shape of 
a rock, stump, nor anything usually seen in 
the woods. 

“ The sled ! — IT1 bet it’s the sled ! ” roared 
Dick. 

“ That's what I think," shouted Sam. 
“ They've had to abandon it." 

Close at his heels, the two boys pressed. 

Sure enough, there was a sled — but empty. 

“ They had time ter git away with the stuff, 
after all," groaned Yardsley. “ Nary a thing 
— all gone." 

“ Do you think they could have hidden it 
somewhere ? " yelled Dick. Then, without 
waiting for an answer, he turned quickly 
around. 

“ Hello !" he exclaimed. “ Where are Bob 
Somers and John Hackett? I thought they 
were right back of us." 

“ So did I," put in Sam. 

“ Great Scott ! Whar' did they git ter ? " 
roared Yardsley, with a look of apprehension 
on his bronzed face. 

“ Hi, hi — hello, cap'n ! " he yelled at the top 
of his voice. 

“ Hi, hi, hey, hey ! " chorused the others. 


209 


Winter Camp 


But no sounds came back to them. 

Again they shouted, their united voices ris- 
ing above the roar of the winds. Still there 
was no response. 

Yardsley did not attempt to conceal his 
anxiety. “ Lost! ” he exclaimed ; “ an’ in this 
blizzard ! ” 

“ Lost ! ” echoed Sam Randall and Dick 
Travers, as they looked at each other in 
alarm. 




CHAPTER XX 


WOLVES ! 

John Hackett’s snow-shoe had caught upon 
a projecting log, and sent him sprawling. In 
his descent, his head brought up sharply 
against a low-hanging branch, and for a mo- 
ment he lay stunned. 

“ Great Caesar ! ” cried Bob. He stooped 
over and placed his hand upon Hackett’s 
shoulder. “ Hurt, Hacky ? ” he asked, anx- 
iously. 

“ I hit my head an awful whack,” replied 
Hackett, faintly. 

Aided by his companion, he slowly rose to 
a sitting posture, but the blow had dazed him 
to such an extent that he remained almost 
motionless, while Bob Somers rubbed his fore- 
head with snow. 

“ Feeling better now ? ” 

“ Yes — a little. My eye ! I saw about fifty- 
six stars. It took all the strength out of me. 
Is there any mark, Somers? ” 

210 


211 


Winter Camp 

“ A red spot — that’s all.” 

“ Wonder it didn’t make a dent an inch 
deep.” 

Hackett accepted Bob’s hand, struggled to 
his feet, and leaned heavily against a tree. 

“ I’m awfully sorry, Hacky,” said Bob, com- 
passionately. 

“ I’ll have to take a few minutes’ rest. 
Where are the other fellows, Somers ? ” 

“ They can’t be far ahead.” 

“ Better be going now, or we may get 
separated,” said Hackett, presently. “ Can 
you see the tracks still ? ” 

“ Yes, but they are very faint.” 

Hackett rubbed his forehead. “ I’m getting 
all right, now ; sail ahead.” 

“ Bother the snow,” said Bob. “ It’s so 
thick a fellow can’t see more than a few 
feet.” 

“ My eye ! I don’t like this,” declared 
Hackett, nervously ; “ Yardsley is the only 
one who can find his way back to camp in this 
storm.” 

“ And I can scarcely make out the trail any 
more.” 

A few rods further, and Bob stopped short. 


212 


The Rambler Club’s 


Then he walked back slowly, with his eyes 
fixed upon the surface of the snow. 

“ Have you lost it ? ” queried Hackett, bend- 
ing over. 

“ No — thought I had. It’s pretty faint, 
though. Come on.” 

Slowly they pushed ahead, now losing the 
trail, then finding it again. Drifts had settled 
over it in places, while generally it was becom- 
ing so faint as to be almost obliterated. 

“ I say, Somers/’ shouted Hackett, at 
length, as he turned his back to an unusually 
fierce blast, “ unless some one has taken the 
trouble to look back, it means that we are left 
away behind.” 

“ That’s so ! Yardsley was going at a pretty 
fast clip, while we’ve just poked along.” 

Hackett’s face began to wear an angry ex- 
pression. “ Did you ever hear of such fierce 
luck ? ” he shouted, scarcely able to make 
himself heard above the roar of the storm. 

“ What chumps we were not to yell for 
them in the first place.” 

Hackett started ahead, shouting with all the 
strength of his lungs. “ Hello, Sam— -hello 1 ” 
he called. 


21 3 


Winter Camp 

“ No answer, eh ? ” said Bob. “ Whew ! 
This is a nice fix to be in. We’d better fire 
our guns.” 

Two reports rang out in quick succession. 

“ They ought to hear that,” exclaimed Bob. 

Straining their ears, the boys listened in- 
tently, but there was no sound of an answering 
shot. 

“ Try it again,” suggested Hackett, with an 
anxious look. 

Quickly reloading, Bob Somers and Hackett 
repeated their signal, but with no better suc- 
cess. 

This was due to a combination of unfortu- 
nate circumstances. Not only was the storm 
raging with a violence which greatly lessened 
the range of the sound, but the wind was blow- 
ing in the wrong direction. Then, too, the 
trapper and the boys accompanying him 
had found it necessary to keep their ears 
well protected. Under these circumstances, it 
is not surprising that the shots passed un- 
heard. 

“ Now we’re in a pretty mess ! ” exclaimed 
Hackett, blankly. “ Lost, as sure as guns. 
And the storm is getting worse all the time.” 


214 


The Rambler Club’s 


The possible seriousness of their situation 
came upon the boys with full force, and they 
looked at each other in dismay. 

“ We can tell what direction to go by the 
wind,” said Bob, presently. 

But this proved to be impossible. Due par- 
tially to the formation of the land, which was 
hilly and rugged, they were surrounded by 
so many eddying swirls that the wind afforded 
almost no guide. 

In silence, with all senses alert, they kept 
on, amidst a thick group of evergreens, whose 
rich green boughs drooped beneath the weight 
of snow. 

“ No use,” panted Hackett, at length. “ Not 
a ghost of a show, Somers. Let’s try and 
make a break for camp.” 

“ Which way do you think it is? ” 

“ Don’t know, I’m sure. Bad as finding a 
pin in a ton of snow. But we have to keep on 
moving, and might as well go in the direction 
it seems to be.” 

But the boys’ ideas on this important point 
did not agree, and both finally concluded that 
at the very first sheltered place it would be 
wiser to call a halt. 


21 5 


Winter Camp 

“ My eye ! ” cried Hackett, suddenly. 
“ What’s that ? ” He stopped short and 
grasped his companion by the arm. 

Above the roar of the wind came a crashing 
sound, which grew louder and louder. 

“ Look ! ” shouted Bob, pointing toward the 
right. 

Dimly, through the driving snow, they saw 
a pine crashing downward. Gathering speed, 
it snapped off limbs and branches from the 
surrounding trees, and struck the ground 
about twenty feet away with a sullen thud. 
Several rabbits suddenly appeared, leaping 
wildly over the snow. 

Almost mechanically, Bob Somers raised his 
gun, and taking quick aim, fired both barrels. 
At the second report, one of the animals fell 
back in the snow. 

“ Glad I borrowed Tom Clifton’s gun,” said 
Bob. “ With a rifle might have missed him.” 
Then he added, as he walked over and picked 
up the rabbit, “ It’s blowing hard to carry 
down a tree like that.” 

“ Another danger we have to look out for,” 
yelled Hackett. “ My eye ! Suppose we had 
been in the way ! ” 


2 i 6 The Rambler Club’s 


Bob glanced apprehensively at the swaying 
trees, from which now and then a branch would 
snap off, to come hurtling through the air. 

“ I’m nearly frozen,” growled Hackett, 
“ and can hardly see.” He struggled slowly 
ahead, occasionally forced to turn his back to 
the icy blasts. “ We are in a bad fix, Somers,” 
he went on. “ What are we going to do ? ” 

“ Keep a stiff upper lip. It might be a 
great deal worse.” 

“ I don’t see it. Just as likely, we are go- 
ing directly away from camp, and we can’t 
stay out all night.” 

The boys slowed up and looked anxiously 
around, in an effort to make out their sur- 
roundings. 

“ We’ll have to trust to luck, Somers, and 
keep moving,” said Hackett. 

“ Right you are ! ” replied Bob, with an 
effort at cheerfulness. “ Don’t get scared, 
and ” 

“ Who said I was scared ? ” cried Hackett, 
bristling up. 

The thought of his courage being questioned 
seemed to put new life into him, and he 
moved ahead again with more spirit. 


217 


Winter Camp 

Before them was a level stretch, which they 
soon discovered was bordered by rugged hills. 
Here the full force of the storm was escaped, 
and, at length, to their great joy, beneath a 
sullen, beetling cliff, a spot was found par- 
tially free from snow and sheltered from the 
wind. Strewn about, not far from the nearest 
snow-drifts, were numerous limbs and branches 
carried there by the heavy gusts. 

“My eye! But this is a find ! ” cried 
Hackett. “ It’s great to get away from that 
wind. If we can only start a fire — got any 
matches, Somers ? ” 

“ Of course ! ” replied Bob, in a tone of 
great relief. “ Whew ! I don’t believe I 
could have stood it out there much longer.” 

He shook the snow from his clothing and 
swung his arms. Then after a moment’s rest, 
took out his hatchet and began chopping away 
on a branch. Hackett, too, set to work, and 
within a quarter of an hour, a fire was started. 

Beyond the shelter of the crag, the blizzard 
continued with unabated force. The wind 
howled and whistled, while scarcely anything 
could be seen through the mass of falling 
flakes. 


218 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ We certainly were lucky to get such a 
place as this, Hacky, ,, commented Bob. 

“And to crack that rabbit, too,” said 
Hackett. “ If we only had a little salt and 
pepper ” 

“ What do you say to this ? ” And Bob 
triumphantly brought forth a small can of 
each. 

“ My eye ! Are you a walking grocery 
store ? ” 

Bob laughed. “ Wasn’t a bad idea, eh ? ” 

“ You’re right ! Let’s get to work.” 

Bob soon had the rabbit skinned and 
dressed. Then he scraped aside a pile of 
glowing coals. 

A sharpened stick was used as a spit, and 
this being laid across two short logs, the rabbit 
began to broil. 

“ I could eat almost anything,” said Bob. 

“ Just let me get a chance at it,” observed 
Hackett. 

“ Hope the other fellows are all right,” said 
Bob, anxiously. 

“ They have Yardsley with ’em. If any- 
body had to get lost, it was a good thing we 
did,” continued Hackett. “ Dick and Sam — 


219 


Winter Camp 

well, they're not up in the woods game like 
we are. It kind of comes natural to me, and 
you ain’t bad at it, either." 

Bob laughed. “ Thanks, Hacky, old man," 
he said. 

The snow sifted down from above, but not 
enough to cause any great discomfort. Seated 
on a log, the boys began to grow cheerful 
again. Their aching limbs had eased con- 
siderably, and but for the dismal prospect of 
spending the night without shelter, neither 
would have minded the experience. 

At length, the rabbit was cooked, or at 
least sufficiently cooked, for they could wait 
no longer. 

“ It’s half burnt, scorched and raw in spots, 
but it tastes good just the same," commented 
Bob. 

“ You’re right it does," replied Hackett. 
Then, after a pause, he added, “ Somers, I be- 
lieve it’s letting up a little." 

“ It can’t stop too soon for me. Hello — 
what’s that sound ? ’’ 

A series of doleful barks rose faintly above 
the roar of the wind. 

“ Wolves ! I’ll bet a hat on it ! ’’ cried 


220 


The Rambler Club’s 


Hackett, in a tone of alarm ; “ and sounds 
like a regular pack of ’em.” 

“ I believe you’re right.” 

Straining their ears, the boys again heard 
the cries, now growing louder, then lost in 
the moaning of the wind. 

“ Wolves, sure enough, Somers,” repeated 
Hackett excitedly. He seized his gun, and 
peered anxiously around, while Bob began to 
feed the fire until great tongues of flame shot 
upward. 

For some moments, there was no repetition 
of the cries, and both began to hope that they 
might be unmolested. 

But suddenly a dismal medley of yelps and 
snarls, close at hand, filled the air. Several 
shadowy forms darted into view, circled 
around, approached, retreated, then, em- 
boldened, came forward again, while the 
boys, with their hearts thumping painfully, 
held their guns ready for instant use. 

“ We are in for a fight, that’s sure,” said 
Bob, in a low voice. “ Don’t waste a shot.” 

The animals, probably half famished, circled 
nearer and nearer, snapping and snarling, and 
occasionally uniting their voices in a volume 



CVisy**. 


Wi£. 




“ DON’T WASTE A SHOT ! ” 











. 




















. 




















221 


Winter Camp 

of howls which made the two boys shiver. 
Now their gleaming teeth could be seen. 
Their jaws seemed to snap, as if in anticipa- 
tion of a feast. 

“ More than a dozen of ’em, Somers ! ” ex- 
claimed Hackett, in a strained, tense voice. 
“ Did you ever see such ugly beasts? ” 

“ Keep cool, and we’ll be all right.” 

Hackett started to add more fuel to the fire, 
then stopped short and uttered an exclama- 
tion of dismay. He realized that their supply 
would soon be exhausted. 

“ Somers,” he said, “ Somers — what do you 
think of this ? The fire won’t last much 
longer ! ” 

“ And a fellow can’t chop wood with those 
beasts around. They are getting bolder every 
moment.” 

All the fuel within reach was piled on the 
fire, and, keeping it between themselves and 
the savage, hungry animals, the boys awaited 
the outcome of the siege with nerves set at 
the keenest tension. 

The gray, gaunt creatures scurried around, 
sometimes approaching so near that the two 
were on the point of firing, then, with dismal 


222 


The Rambler Club’s 


snarls, retreating until their courage reas- 
serted itself. 

“ No use to shoot until we are certain/’ ob- 
served Bob. “ If we happened to wound one 
without disabling it, I’ll bet the beast would 
pounce right down on us.” 

“ With the rest following at its heels,” added 
Hackett. 

Once or twice the slim boy raised his rifle, 
only to lower it. The indistinct forms, dart- 
ing hither and thither amidst the driving 
snow, were difficult to aim at. 

Meanwhile, the fire began to die down. 

“ We’re in for it now,” said Bob. “ Look 
lively, and don’t waste a shot.” 

A few minutes passed. Then, like a flash, 
one of the wolves darted toward them. 

Bob Somers, with arms that trembled for 
an instant, raised his gun. He saw the wide 
open, savage mouth, the glaring eyes — then 
he pulled the trigger. 

A howl of agony followed the report. The 
animal rose on its hind legs and pitched for- 
ward in the snow. 

“ Hurrah ! and with only one charge ! ” 
cried Bob, his eyes bright with excitement. 


Winter Camp 223 

The loud report and flash of fire from the 
gun sent the other wolves back a few paces, 
but it was only for a moment. 

“ There’s but one thing to be done, and 
that mighty quickly ! ” exclaimed Bob. “ Won- 
der we didn’t think of it before.” 

“ What’s that ? ” 

“ Climb the cliff. Once out of their reach, 
it will be easy to pick them off.” 

“ Guess you are right. But they won’t give 
us much chance to get up. If a fellow should 
slip ” Hackett shuddered. 

“ I’ll stand ’em off. When I fire, you start 
to climb.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” returned Hackett, quickty ; “ my 
repeating rifle is worth half a dozen of your 
guns. Be ready to move fast. In a second 
you’ll hear a fierce racket. Here goes — one 
— two — three.” 

Hackett fired, then quickly followed with 
two more shots. 

Bob Somers had slung his gun over his 
shoulder, and taking advantage of the oppor- 
tunity, grasped a projecting rock, and began 
to scale the steep side of the cliff. Footholds 
were numerous, and, as little snow had found 


224 


The Rambler Club’s 


lodgment, he managed to reach a ledge well 
out of reach of their foes. 

Hackett’s shots and the cries of their 
wounded companions had sent the wolves 
quickly retreating, to spread out in a half- 
circle. 

“ Now’s your time. Hackett,” yelled Bob. 
“ Quick ! ” 

Hackett hastily turned, and began to scram- 
ble upward. 

As he did so, a gray form shot out from 
amidst its fellows and made a dash straight 
for him. 


CHAPTER XXI 


SUSPICIONS 

“ Whar’ can the cap’n an’ his mate hev got 
to ? ” cried Yardsley. 

For a moment he forgot all about the 
thieves, in his great anxiety regarding the 
young hunters. 

“ Powerful— powerful bad,” he went on. 
“ Wouldn’t hev had this happen fur no 
money.” 

He raised his gun and fired in the air, Dick 
Travers following his example. 

Shielding themselves as best they could 
against the violent wind and blinding snow, 
they awaited a response. But none came. 

“ Big surprise ter me,” said Yardsley. “ I 
don’t see how no sich thing could happen.” 

“ What in the world can have become of 
them ? ” cried Sam Randall, in the utmost 
apprehension. “ Great Scott ! They will 
never be able to find their way back.” 

“ This is awful,” put in Dick, with a strong 
effort to make himself heard. 

225 


226 The Rambler Club’s 


Yardsley stared fixedly in the direction 
from which they had come. 

“ It's all my fault ! ” he exclaimed, regret- 
fully. “ Powerful wrong ter ask you fellers 
ter come on sich a trip. An' I kep’ straight 
ahead, never lookin’ back. Yardsley, you’re 
a reg’lar dub.” 

“ The trail must be lost completely by this 
time,” said Sam Randall, a moment later. 
“ You can’t even see it right back of the sled.” 

“ I know this here place purty well,” was 
Yardsley’s response. “ I kin foller the route 
back all right. Thar’s one thing,” he added, 
brightening up a bit. 

“ What’s that? ” asked Sam. 

“ The cap’n’s got a good head, on good, 
square shoulders. He ain’t no fool. An’ that 
long-legged chap is full of grit.” 

“ But this is an awful storm,” said Sam 
Randall, and his moody tone indicated how 
apprehensive he felt. 

Disconsolately, the trio pushed along, shout- 
ing and firing by turns. 

“ There’s a chance that they may have 
gone back to camp,” said Dick Travers, at 
length. 


227 


Winter Camp 

“ Bat we don’t want to give up until every- 
thing is done to find them,” added Randall. 

“ Right you are, mate. John Yardsley 
would give all his winter’s work ter see them 
chaps afore him.” 

But, as time went on, the utter hopelessness 
of the search became apparent. Buffeted and 
battered by the chilly blasts, scarcely able to 
see for the flying snow and almost exhausted, 
the two boys bravely kept up, until Yardsley, 
fearing that they might suffer ill effects from 
the exposure, sorrowfully decided that it would 
be necessary to return. 

“ It’s no use — an’ powerful sorry I am ter 
say it,” he announced. “ We’d best git back 
ter camp, an’ trust that the cap’n an’ mate 
pull through all right.” 

“ Do you think they found their way back 
to camp ? ” asked Sam, hopefully. 

“ There’s always a chance ; an’ if they didn’t, 
the two will take keer of themselves — depend 
upon it.” 

Yardsley was far from feeling as sanguine as 
his words indicated, but he strove to encourage 
the others, and possibly, in so doing, lightened 
his own fears. 


228 


The Rambler Club’s 


Disconsolately, therefore, the search was 
abandoned. 

Sam and Dick followed the trapper closely. 
To them, the task of finding the camp would 
have been hopeless, but Yardsley went straight 
ahead, stopping only occasionally to look about 
him. 

“ How do you know which way to go ? ” 
asked Sam, curiously. 

“ Bless you, mates, a man can’t live as I do, 
in the woods, an’ lose his bearin’s. I’ve 
traveled hereabouts ’til I can find my way in 
the dark.” 

“ Wonder how Nat Wingate and the other 
fellows are faring ? ” said Dick. 

“ The camp is kinder sheltered, but them 

fellers across the lake ” Yardsley paused, 

and a strange expression came over his bronzed 
face. “ H’m — powerful singular, I call it.” 

“ What is ? ” asked Sam. 

The trapper nodded, as if in answer to some 
thought of his own. They were standing by 
the side of a huge boulder, and partially 
sheltered from the wind. 

“ Well, mates, I don’t like ter accuse no one, 
but ain’t it powerful suspicious that them 


Winter Camp 229 

chaps should hev called you over this 
mornin’ ? ” 

As if half sorry that he had uttered his 
thoughts, the trapper stopped short, and 
glanced questioningly at the others. 

“ By George ! It is rather funny ! ” cried 
Dick, impulsively. “ And don’t you remem- 
ber, Sam, Robson said the whole crowd was 
expected to come over ? ” 

“ And it might have been all a bluff, too, 
about the others going out hunting.” 

“ An’ him as they call Piper was a-wantin’, 
so he said, ter buy furs t’other day. Ridicu- 
lous figger, too. I don’t like ter say nothin’, 
but it’s powerful singular,” and Yardsley 
nodded vigorously. “ Can’t say I ever took 
to ’em, neither,” he went on. “ Oily kind of 
feller that Piper, an’ very techy.” 

“ And they knew just where your skins 
were kept ? ” 

“ Sartin ! As sure as you’re a-standin’ here, 
they did.” 

“ Wouldn’t be surprised if they should turn 
out to be guilty,” admitted Dick. 

“Mind, I don’t say it’s them, but it looks 
powerful bad, an’ I’m goin’ ter find out. John 


230 The Rambler Club’s 

Yardsley ain’t the man ter be done this 
way.” 

“ We must do some detective work,” put in 
Sam. 

“ If the cap’n was only with us. A bright 
feller, the cap’n — he’ll come out all right. 
The snow’s growin’ a bit less, mates.” 

“ So it is,” said Dick. 

“ Now if you fellers keep yer eyes open, ye 
may find out something.” 

“ You can count on us,” returned Dick, to 
whom the prospect of detective work was 
especially alluring. 

But little was said during the rest of the 
journey. 

“ ’Tain’t fur now,” remarked the trapper at 
length. He turned to the right, and was soon 
standing before a sign-post similar to the one 
the boys had seen near Lake Wolverine. 

Partridge Holler. 

But it can't be heard. 

Lake Wolverine one mile. 

“ As I tole you afore, it’s a little failin’ I 
have,” he chuckled. “ You may strike more 
of ’em around these parts.” 

Yardsley soon relapsed into a moody silence. 


231 


Winter Camp 

The fear that Bob Somers and his companion 
might be in danger, and his loss drove all 
other thoughts from his mind. 

At length, they toiled up another hill, with 
the snow falling thickly about them, and the 
boys suddenly discovered by a familiar tree 
that their camp was close at hand. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Sam, and with renewed 
spirit he pushed along. 

Soon the two huts came into view. Then 
several shadowy figures uttered loud cheers 
and came pressing forward. 

“ Hello, there ! ” cried Nat Wingate ; “ what 
luck ? ” 

Then, as he was informed of the unaccounta- 
ble disappearance of the two boys, he stared 
blankly at Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton. 
“What! Hacky and Bob Somers lost?” he 
exclaimed. “ That’s a nice fix to be in ! ” 

“ We thought they might have found their 
way back,” said Sam, disconsolately. “ This 
is a fierce storm for any one to be out in, eh, 
Chub?” 

“ Those chaps are pretty good at taking care 
of themselves,” replied Dave, reflectively. 

“ But what will they do for a shelter to- 


The Rambler Club’s 


232 

night ?” put in Tom Clifton, in a frightened 
voice. “ Cracky ! What awful luck ! ” 

. “ The cap’n’s got a good head, an’ Hack- 
ett’s full of grit. The wust of it is, we can’t 
do nothin’.” 

“ No use looking on the worst side,” com- 
mented the poet laureate, in positively cheer- 
ful tones. “ Don’t get scared until you have 
to. See what we’ve done, fellows.” He 
pointed toward the huts. 

“ Cleared away a lot of snow, eh ? That’s 
great,” commented Dick. “ Lucky that it’s 
sheltered here, or we might have been snowed 
up pretty badly. Some big drifts, as it is. 
Looks different, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ Whew, fellows, this wind is too much,” 
said Dave ; “ it’s the hut for me.” 

The boys all crowded inside, followed by the 
trapper. A lantern hung from the roof, 
brightly illuminating the small interior, and 
making a cheerful contrast to the growing 
darkness outside. 

“ A purty snug little place, mates,” observed 
Yardsley, seating himself on an empty box. 

The light played fantastically over his rug- 
ged features, ruthlessly bringing out the 


2 33 


Winter Camp 

wrinkles and hollows formed by conflict with 
the elements. His strong, bony hands clasped 
his knee, and, leaning back, he gazed moodily 
at the floor, now and then half starting when 
a particularly violent gust of wind shook the 
hut. 

“ It will soon be as dark as pitch,” declared 
Tom Clifton, pulling aside the canvas flap and 
looking out. “ Snow still coming down pretty 
lively, too. We’ll have another job clearing 
it away in the morning.” 

“ Where in the world can Hacky and Som- 
ers be, I wonder? ” spoke up Nat. 

“ Don’t worry, mates. They will turn up 
to-morrow, sure,” said Yardsley. Then, to re- 
lieve his own feelings, he began to talk on 
other subjects. 

“ I say, fellows,” broke in Dick Travers, sud- 
denly, “ there was something mighty suspi- 
cious about those fellows across the lake call- 
ing us over this morning.” 

“What do you mean?” asked the poet 
laureate, quickly. 

“ It looks as though they wanted to have an 
eye on us. Queer, too, that Robson should 
have been alone.” 


234 


The Rambler Club’s 


Dave Brandon seemed somewhat startled, 
and reflected for a moment. “ I can’t believe 
those chaps would do anything of that sort/’ 
he said, with a decided shake of his head. 
“ Story Robson told seemed straight to me. 
Nice fellows, I think.” 

“ Best ter say nothin’ more about it,” ob- 
served the trapper. “ Guess I done wrong 
ter ’rouse yer s’picions.” 

Nat Wingate leaned back and stuffed his 
hands in his pocket. “ Did Robson act as if 
he had a headache, Chub ? ” he inquired. 

“ He didn’t look very spry, that’s certain.” 

“ An’ I guess it was true ’nough ’bout them 
wolves,” put in Yardsley, and he contracted 
his brow until two deep lines appeared 

“ My idea, too,” added Dave. 

“ Oh, you are easy, Chub,” said Nat, rather 
scornfully. “ For my part, I think those 
chaps took the furs, and we’re going to find 
out before very long.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE FAWN 

Scrambling desperately, John Hackett 
strove to pull himself beyond the reach of 
the wolf. 

Bob Somers, standing upon an insecure 
ledge above, and at imminent risk of taking 
a tumble, fired point-blank. The animal, 
with a howl of mingled fury and pain, 
stopped — then went limping away, while 
Hackett, with another strenuous effort, man- 
aged to gain a position of safety. 

“ Thanks, Somers, old man/' he managed 
to exclaim. “ He came pretty near giving me 
a good snip. My eye ! We’ll attend to those 
ugly brutes now. Just look at ’em.” 

“ We were lucky to get up here, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, and that concert is going to stop — 
mighty quick, too.” 

Hackett slipped a round of cartridges into 
his rifle, and taking a firm stand, raised it to 
his shoulder. 


235 


236 The Rambler Club’s 

His aim was true. Without a cry, one of , 
the beasts toppled over in a heap. 

“ Hurrah ! Maybe ‘ Mushroom ' could do 
better than that ! ” cried the slim boy, ex- 
ultingly. “ Watch me again, Somers — 
wow ! ” Hackett, in his eagerness, almost 
slipped from his position. 

“ Gracious, Hacky — thought you were go- 
ing down, sure.” 

“ It was a close call. Fine, to be plumped 
right in among ’em,” and Hackett gave a per- 
ceptible shiver. 

Awaiting favorable opportunities, both kept 
on firing, and with each report, came yelps of 
rage and pain. The baffled animals scurried 
away, then slowly returned to the base of the 
cliff, where they trotted around, looking up- 
ward, their glistening teeth and red tongues 
giving them a most ferocious aspect. 

“ Only a few more left, now, Somers. Here 
goes another,” and Hackett proved his asser- 
tion by a skilful shot. The blood-curdling 
screech that followed seemed to carry con- 
sternation into the hearts of the others. 
Hastily falling back, they circled around for 
a moment, then, dismally howling, leaped 


Winter Camp 237 

over the snow and disappeared from view be- 
hind the veil of falling flakes. 

“ My eye ! That's great ! We have done 
ourselves proud ! ” exclaimed Hackett. “ Five 
of 'em ! What will old Yardsley say to this, 
eh, Somers ? " 

“ That we know how to look out for our- 
selves. Talk about being stiff and cold — my 
position is so cramped ” 

“ Let's get down, then.” 

“ That’s what I'm going to do just as soon 
as we’re sure those beasts are not coming 
back.” 

After a considerable wait, when there was 
nothing to indicate that their savage foes were 
near, Bob Somers eased himself down, and, 
with a sigh of relief, stretched his aching 
limbs. By swinging his arms vigorously and 
dancing a jig, the circulation was quickly 
restored. Hackett followed his example. 

“ Gracious, what ugly looking beasts,” 
exclaimed Bob as his eyes rested on their late 
besiegers. 

“ We'll take the tails along, to show the 
fellows,” said Hackett. “ There's a bounty 
for 'em, too. I knew I could do the trick. 


238 The Rambler Club’s 

Made some pretty good shots, eh, Somers ? ” 
and Hackett smiled complacently. 

“ Yes, you did,” returned Bob, with a faint 
grin. “ But better let’s pitch in, now, and get 
a pile of wood ready for the night. The wolves 
may take it into their heads to come back.” 

“ To think of having to spend hours and 
hours in this gloomy place,” grumbled Hack- 
ett. “ It’s fierce luck — nothing to eat, either. 
Say, we, too, have an account to settle with 
the fellows who stole old Yardsley’s furs. I’d 
like to run across ’em. Wonder if he had 
any luck ? ” 

“ Not likely. The trail was ’most lost when 
we got separated.” 

No sign of the remaining wolves being 
seen, they boldty set to work, and in spite of 
their tired condition, kept at it until a great 
pile of fuel was gathered. Then the bodies of 
the dead wolves were tossed unceremonious^ 
to one side. 

The smouldering fire soon quickened into 
life, and by this time, darkness had settled 
over the scene, a pitchy darkness, which the 
fire lighted up for a short distance with a 
fantastic glare. 


2 39 


Winter Camp 

Conversation lagged. They gazed moodily 
at the crumbling logs sending up showers of 
sparks, at the ever-changing forms, so sug- 
gestive to imaginative minds of hobgoblins 
and elves, dancing and twisting into every 
conceivable shape, but nothing could make 
them forget their hunger. 

Time wearily dragged on — hours and hours 
passed — then tired nature asserted itself. 

“ No use of two keeping watch, Hacky. 
Let’s take turns on guard, or if you want to 
take a nap ” 

“ I’m not any more tired than you are. I 
can stand about as much as any fellow I 
know of.” 

“ Certainly you can,” laughed Bob. “ We 
can settle it by drawing lots. If I win, you 
can bet I’ll take a nap.” 

When the daylight began to show itself 
through a dull sky, patched with blue, the 
snow had stopped falling. 

A flock of crows passed noisily overhead. 
Soon the frost-work in the forest was spark- 
ling like diamonds, as the sun burst through 
a rift in the grayish clouds. 


240 The Rambler Club’s 

Bob jumped to his feet. “ Morning, and a 
fine one, too/’ he exclaimed. 

“ You’re right, Somers. Are you ready to 
skip ? ” 

“ You bet ! Say, but I’m sore and stiff ; 
and I’ll starve, too, if I don’t get something 
to eat pretty soon.” 

Snow-shoes were strapped on, and after cut- 
ting off the wolves’ tails, a start was made. 

“ Which direction do you think the camp 
is, Somers ? ” 

“ About southeast. We ought not to have 
much trouble in striking Lake Wolverine, 
with the sun to help us.” 

“ Guess you are right. It might be a good 
idea to climb a tree. I’ll do that on top of 
the next hill.” 

Everywhere were evidences of the storm’s 
ravages. Branches and limbs lay on all sides 
and occasionally small trees were found lying 
prostrate on the snow. 

Through a heavily timbered section the 
boys forced their way, often confronted by 
huge snow-drifts. 

On reaching the summit of a high hill, 
Hackett looked about him. 


2 4 1 


Winter Camp 

“ There’s a tree that will do, Somers,” he 
said, pointing to one close at hand. “ When 
I get my snow-shoes off, give me a boost.” 

In spite of little food and a very hard night, 
Hackett had not lost his agility. From 
branch to branch he climbed aloft, until a 
dizzy height was reached. 

“ I can see the upper end of the lake, 
Somers,” he called, “ but it’s a good way off. 
We are headed all right, though,” he added, 
beginning to descend. 

“ A couple of hours ought to see us at the 
camp,” declared Hackett, when he stood on 
the ground once more. 

“ How far is the lake ? ” 

“ About three miles. Let’s hustle.” 

Down the steep slope they went, and at the 
bottom found themselves in a forest of ever- 
greens. The air was crisp and invigorating 
and the fragrant odor of the pines delightful. 

The ground was again rising gently. A 
few paces further, Bob Somers suddenly seized 
Hackett by the arm. “ Gracious alive — a 
deer,” he whispered. “ Don’t make a sound.” 

“ Where?” asked his companion, eagerly. 

“ Straight ahead,” said Bob. 


242 


The Rambler Club’s 


They had reached the top of a slight eleva- 
tion. Below, with its back turned toward 
them, was a deer browsing upon cedar boughs. 

“ Sure enough ! If this isn’t the greatest 
piece of luck I ever heard of ; and the wind is 
blowing in the right direction, too.” Hackett’s 
voice trembled with excitement. “ Mind your 
eye, Somers,” he continued, “ and we’ll get it. 

Let’s circle around, and ” he paused, for 

the deer swung its head to one side, and both 
boys expected to see it dash off on the instant. 

But, to their intense relief, the animal con- 
tinued browsing, and, with the utmost caution, 
they moved along, eagerly peering between the 
masses of underbrush. 

“ It’s still there,” said Hackett, in scarcely 
audible tones. “ A minute more, and I’m 
going to take a chance.” 

“ Don’t utter even a whisper,” interrupted 
Bob, warningly. 

In silence, the eager hunters, bending low, 
circled around. 

A moment later, coming in full view of the 
deer between wide openings in the trees, Hack- 
ett raised his rifle, conquered the strange tre- 
mor which had seized him, and fired. 


2 43 


Winter Camp 

It was a thrilling moment. A wreath of 
bluish smoke slowly drifted upward, then the 
excited boys saw the animal plunge forward, 
and sink to its knees. 

A hearty shout came from Hackett. “ Knew 
I couldn't miss ! ” he cried, exultingly, as he 
dashed ahead. 

The deer recovered its feet, and floundered 
through the snow. But the slim boy rapidly 
gained on the wounded animal, and, waiting 
until he was within easy range, fired again. 

This time, the doe, struck in a vital part, 
dropped in her tracks and rolled heavily in 
the snow. 

Hackett rushed forward in the greatest ex- 
citement. A cry of triumph came from his 
lips. The only great achievement of the trip 
had been his — already, he saw himself looked 
upon as a mighty hunter by the Kingswood boys. 

But as he approached the body of the doe, 
a plaintive cry attracted his attention, so soft 
and faint as to almost pass unheard. 

“ What's that, I wonder ? " muttered Hack- 
ett, in astonishment. 

Looking quickly around, he saw a pair of 
large, pleading eyes, gazing into his own. 


244 The Rambler Club’s 

Partially hidden by a mass of underbrush 
stood a young fawn. 

The little creature seemed to be on the point 
of leaping off, but, as Hackett remained per- 
fectly still, it apparently took courage, then 
gazed at the doe with such a mournful ex- 
pression that the young hunter felt touched. 

“ Hang it all, Somers,” he exclaimed, re- 
gretfully, “ I wish I hadn’t made such a cork- 
ing good shot. I do — and no mistake.” 

“ A fawn, by George ! I thought I saw 
something moving along back of that bush,” 
cried Bob Somers. “ Come here,” he said, 
coaxingly, holding out his hand. 

But the small creature leaped lightly aside. 

“ My eye ! I’ll take him back with me,” 
declared Hackett. “ You bet I will.” 

“ Catch him first,” laughed Bob. 

“ I think we can manage it. See, he hasn’t 
gone far. Leave it to me, Somers. It will be 
sporting up and down my father’s lawn yet.” 

With an assortment of strange sounds, 
Hackett stepped forward. But as long as he 
was in motion the fawn kept moving away, 
showing no disposition, however, to go very 
far from the slain doe. 


245 


Winter Camp 


Hackett displayed a great deal of patience, 
and finally the fawn, apparently realizing that 
no harm was intended, allowed him to ap- 
proach. 

In the meantime, Bob Somers had made a 
noose out of a piece of cord, and when the slim 
boy finally succeeded in coaxing the animal 
to his side, they managed, by careful work, to 
slip it over the fawn’s neck, and it was then a 
prisoner. 







CHAPTER XXIII 


BACK TO CAMP 

“ It’s the fellows, as sure as you live ! ” cried 
Dick Travers. “ Whoop ! Isn’t that great, 
Chubby ? Makes me feel like dancing for joy.” 

The faint report of a gun came over the 
frosty air, following a signal fired by Yardsley. 

“ Must be the cap’n an’ mate,” commented 
the trapper, with hope in his voice. 

“ Cracky, I only hope we’re not going to be 
disappointed,” put in Sam Randall, anxiously. 
“ Shall we fire again ? ” 

“ ’Tain’t no use now,” declared Musgrove, 
decidedly. 

On reaching the top of a hill, the eager 
searchers were rewarded by seeing two figures 
slowly moving along in the valley below. 

“ Is it them ?” asked Tim Sladder, earnestly. 

“ I’m sure it is,” declared Dick Travers ; 
“ I’d know Hackett’s thin figure a mile away.” 

“ I don’t even mind losin’ them furs — if 
that’s the cap’n an’ mate, safe an’ sound,” ex- 
claimed Yardsley, heartily. “ Tell the truth, 
246 


Winter Camp 247 

I ain’t had a minute’s rest fur thinkin’ about 
’em.” 

“ Hi, hi — hey ! ” yelled Nat ; “ hello, Hacky 
— whoop ! ” and he waved his hand frantically 
in the air. 

An answering call reached their ears. 

“ My goodness, but I’m glad,” cried Sam 
Randall, enthusiastically. “ This is the best 
moment of the trip.” 

“ I knew they would turn up all right, 
though,” commented Dave Brandon. But his 
shining eyes and tone indicated a feeling of 
the greatest relief. “ What is that they have 
with them — a dog, or what ? ” he asked 
abruptly. 

“ Most likely a 1 What,’ ” grinned Nat. 

“ Some four-legged critter, sure enough,” 
put in Tim Sladder. 

“ Bless you,” began Yardsley — he shaded 
his eyes — “ what can it be? Youngsters,” he 
added, in a surprised tone, “ the cap’n an’ 
mate’s got a fawn. Did you ever hear the 
beat of it? Really — if I ain’t surprised ! ” 

“ Christopher ! They must be getting a 
menagerie together,” observed Nat Wingate, 
wonderingly. 


248 The Rambler Club’s 

Swiftly the snow-shoes glided over the 
white surface of the slope, Yardsley leading 
the way, and soon they were within easy call. 

A chorus of cheers floated over the air, and 
before the echoes had ceased lusty shouts came 
from the others. 

“ Ah, but it’s good ter see ’em again,” cried 
Yardsley. “ An’ they don’t look none the 
wuss fur it, neither.” 

“ Hurrah for the bounding brotherhood of 
deer catchers,” yelled Nat, and above the din 
which followed was heard Billy Musgrove’s 
loud laugh. 

“ Hello, fellows!” 

“ Hello, Nat, old man ! ” 

Enthusiastic greetings, hand-shaking and 
exclamations followed. Questions, sharp, 
quick and to the point, were hurled back and 
forth. All spoke at once, and no one managed 
to get a clear idea of anything until Yardsley 
waved his hand for silence. 

“ Softly, youngsters,” he exclaimed ; “ give 
’em time.” 

“ It strikes me you’re right,” agreed Sam 
Randall. “ Quit that racket, fellows. What’s 
that, Bob — wolves? Say ” 


Winter Camp 249 

u Wolves ! ” echoed Hackett. “ Did we have 
a fight ? — Well ! ” the slim boy drew a long 
breath. 

The tumult threatened to break out again, 
but, the pause was well timed, and Hackett 
launched forth into a vivid description, which 
was punctuated at telling points by a chorus 
of “ ah’s and oh’s” from his interested lis- 
teners. 

“ Boys, I’m proud of yer,” declared the 
trapper, beamingly, as he extended his hand 
to each in turn. “ Born hunters — both of yer. 
What d’ye think of it?” and he turned to- 
ward Sladder and Musgrove. 

“ Ain’t bad, fur town fellers, but,” and 
Musgrove grinned in his impudent fashion, 
“ me an’ Tim wouldn’t think nothing of it. 
No, sir! Why ” 

“ But do tell us about the fawn,” interposed 
Dick Travers, impatiently, as Hackett’s eyes 
began to glare. 

During the reunion, the small animal had 
made frantic efforts to escape. The sight of 
big, lumbering Bowser especially terrified it, 
but the dog, slowly walking forth and back, 
kept at a considerable distance, eying the 


250 


The Rambler Club’s 


newcomer askance, occasionally uttering a 
doleful bark. 

“ Brave dog of yours, Sladder,” sneered 
Hackett. “ Wonder it hasn’t keeled over. 
It can hardly stand up now, for fright.” 

Tim grinned, then glanced, with a rather 
peculiar expression, at Yardsley. “ He ain’t 
never been hisself since he heard them awful 
screeches outside our shanty,” he declared. 
“ ’Most had a spell then ; but you ain’t got 
money enough ter buy him.” 

“ He’s only good enough for the dog pound.” 

“ Oh, but the fawn — do tell us about the 
fawn,” put in Tom Clifton. 

Hackett complied. 

“ Somers will tell you what a corking good 
shot it was. I’d like to see any one in this 
crowd beat it,” he declared, decisively, as the 
story was concluded. 

“ Them fawns, if yer runs acrost ’em at 
the proper age, are easy tamed,” said John 
Yardsley. 

“ What beautiful eyes,” remarked Tom Clif- 
ton, admiringly. 

“ And pretty head,” added Dick. “ What 
are you going to do with it, ‘ Hatchet ’ ? ” 


251 


Winter Camp 

“ It goes back to Kingswood, and will walk 
around my governor’s lawn, larger than 
life.” 

“ Are we going to stand here gabbing all 
day ? ” asked Bob, with a comical grimace. 
“ Talk about feeling hungry — and tired — and 
cold.” 

“ That’s so ! You sure had a fierce time 
of it ! ” exclaimed Yardsley, apologetically. 
“ Come with me, an’ I’ll make a spread fur 
the hull crowd — that I will.” 

This arrangement was gladly acceded to, 
especially as the last spread had been one to 
be remembered. 

Every one was glad when the cabin came 
in view, and still more glad when a fire was 
started. While Tom Clifton and Dick Travers 
assisted the hunter, the rest discussed the 
various events which had befallen them. 

► “ No, I ain’t seen them fellers ’crost the 
lake,” snapped Billy Musgrove, in answer to 
a question. “ Ain’t pertic’lar ’bout it, neither. 
No, sir ; Piker an’ Jobson got too fresh. Say, 
what d’ye think Jobson says ter me ? ” A 
peculiarly injured expression crossed his face, 
and, for a moment, a pair of small eyes blinked 


2J2 


The Rambler Club’s 


angrily. “ He says, ‘ Muzzy, yer got the big- 
gest mouth I ever seen/ Honest, he did, 
Springate — them was his words.” 

“ But you called him down all right, Billy,” 
grinned Tim Sladder. 

“ Sure I did ! What’s that, Springate — you 
think they stole Pardsley’s furs ? ” 

“ I didn’t say anything to you, Musgrove,” 
said Nat, annoyed that an unguarded remark 
had been overheard. 

“ I hearn you, though, that I did. Say, 
you don’t know nothing about it. No, sir.” 
Billy Musgrove leaned back on an empty soap 
box. “ I ain’t a-sayin’ I like ’em,” he went 
on, looking down on the floor, and slowly 
twirling his thumbs, “ an’ I don’t know noth- 
ing about ’em, but ” 

“ I reckon we’ll never l’arn who robbed 
me,” broke in Yardsley. 

“ An’ I don’t keer,” continued Billy Mus- 
grove, calmly. 

“ An’ I was going ter say,” interposed the 
trapper, “ that now the cap’n an’ his mate’s 
got back safely, I ain’t a-kickin’.” 

“ See here, Wardsley, what makes you call 
Scummers ‘ cap’n ’ ? ” asked Musgrove, with a 


Winter Camp 253 

grin and a wink. “ D’ye think he’s boss? If 
yer do, ask that long-legged chap.” 

“ You make me think of a purp in a mud 
puddle — always stirring up things,” remarked 
Hackett, half angrily. “ Don’t get too gay. 
I won’t stand for it — no, sir. Ask me pal, 
Nat,” and he mimicked Billy’s voice so well 
that the boys fairly exploded with laughter. 

“ Want to go over with us to-morrow night, 
and see ‘ Piper ’ and the rest, Sladder ? ” asked 
Nat, when quiet was restored. 

“ What are you goin’ fur ? ” 

“Nothing special. Just to see how they 
are making out,” answered Nat, evasively. 

“ Sure thing, we’ll go,” interrupted Mus- 
grove. “ Wouldn’t hev ’em think they scared 
us none. To-morrow night, eh ? — Suits me, 
all right.” 

“ Wonder what luck they’ve had, anyway?” 
observed Sladder. 

“ Them chaps ain’t no hunters. Ain’t many 
hunters out here neither ; ” and at this very 
obvious insinuation Billy winked several 
times, and affected not to notice the dense 
silence which, for a moment, followed his 
words. 


2 S 4 


The Rambler Club’s 


Appetizing odors soon filled the room, and 
the half-famished wanderers could scarcely 
wait until the steaming viands were placed 
on the long table near the window. 

The meal was thoroughly enjoyed, and at 
its completion the poet laureate distinguished 
himself by promptly going to sleep. 

“ Let him be, mates,” observed Yardsley. 
“ And who’s a-goin’ with me ter fetch that 
there deer to camp?” he asked, a moment 
later. 

“ I will,” said Dick Travers. 

“ Guess I’ll go, too,” added Randall. 

“ We’d best be going soon,” continued 
Yardsley, “ or we’ll find that the varmints 
have made a meal of it.” 

When Yardsley and the two Ramblers 
started off after the deer, the others began to 
make their way toward the lake. 

As the afternoon advanced, the clouds 
which still dotted the sky began to disappear, 
and before dark the last whitish patch had 
vanished behind a hill. Finally a glimmer- 
ing light began to show in the northeast, and 
the moon rose against a steel blue sky sprinkled 
with stars. 


Winter Camp 255 

Sam Randall and Dick Travers returned, 
and announced the success of their trip. 

The rigor of a keen, cutting air was greatly 
lessened by a roaring fire, and the boys man- 
aged to make themselves comfortable. 

Bob Somers and Hackett, however, thor- 
oughly worn out, concluded to retire early, 
and while the figures of Sladder, Musgrove and 
Bowser were yet patches of dark against a 
snowy background, each was ready for his bed 
of fir brush. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A QUARREL 

“ Here comes Sladder, Musgrove and the 
mighty Bowser,” laughed Bob, when supper 
was finished next evening. 

“ There’s a light in the cabin, so we might 
as well get ready,” added Sam Randall, rising 
to his feet. 

The Stony Creek hunters soon drew up 
alongside the blazing fire. 

“ Evenin’ ! You fellers goin’ over now ? 
Piker’s gang is there,” said Musgrove. “ A 
bully night, too, fur skatin’,” he added. 

The full moon gleamed brightly from a 
cloudless sky, sending the shadows of the dark 
trees in a delicate tracery over the foreground. 
The huts were edged with light, while beyond 
stretched a pale, ghostly expanse of snow, 
broken here and there by dark patches of trees 
and underbrush. Overhead, a few bright 
stars sparkled upon the field of blue. 

“ Big crowd of us, isn’t there?” said Tom 
256 


Winter Camp 257 

Clifton, with a glance over his shoulder, as all 
started for the lake. 

“ Sure,” replied Sladder ; “ with Bowser, it 
makes ten. Guess there won’t be much room 
in that there cabin when all of us gits inside.” 

“ Race, Wackett?” grinned Musgrove, as 
the crisp whirr of the steel rang out. 

“ Do you think I want to break my neck ? 
A fellow might run across an air hole or thin 
spot somewhere. Daytime for me. And say, 
Mushroom ” — Hackett’s voice betrayed a trace 
of impatience — “ you won’t talk so much 
about racing after the next time.” 

“ Huh — what’s the reason I won’t? ” 

“ You’ll find out. I’ll have the Stony 
Creek championship dangling from my belt 
before long, eh, Nat ? ” and Hackett playfully 
poked his chum in the ribs. 

The starlike point of light in the cabin 
grew larger and brighter, and finally the log 
structure could be faintly seen against the side 
of the hill. 

“ Hello — hi, hi ! ” yelled Hackett, and the 
chorus of shouts which followed soon brought 
a response. 

The door was opened, sending a stream of 


258 The Rambler Club’s 

light out upon the snow. Dark forms crowded 
the entrance, and Piper’s voice was heard, in- 
viting them to come in. 

The snow-drifts along the shore and around 
the cabin were particularly heavy, but the 
boys quickly floundered through them. 

“ I’m glad to see you,” said Piper, heartily, 
as the group approached. “ Been wondering 
how you fared in the storm. Hello — you 
here?” 

His eye had rested on the forms of Tim 
Sladder and Billy Musgrove, who stood in the 
full glare of light. 

At this remark, the latter’s face assumed 
its most impudent expression. He folded 
his arms and surveyed the speaker an in- 
stant before replying, “ Certainly — an’ why 
not?” 

“ Oh, well — didn’t expect you — that’s all.” 

Piper’s voice grew sarcastic, his manner be- 
came frigid, while Robson, standing just in- 
side, gave a short laugh. “ Anyway, we 
don’t want that Bowser in here,” went on 
Piper. “ A hundred pounds of dog would 
take up too much room.” 

“ An’ I suppose me an’ me pal, Tim, ain’t 


Winter Camp 259 

good 'nough ter come in, neither — eh ? ” 
growled Musgrove, compressing his lips. 

“ No use getting riled. Move lively, fel- 
lows — don't want to let in too much cold air.” 

For an instant the Stony Creek boys held 
back. Then Sladder whispered in his chum's 
ear, and the two slowly walked inside. 
Bowser, left out in the cold, set up a mourn- 
ful howl and began scratching at the door. 

“ Sit on anything you can find, fellows,” 
said Piper, with a pleasant smile. “ It seems 
to me,” he added, “ that we ought to build an 
addition to this shack. What's the matter 
with that brute ? ” 

“ Don't you think a dog feels the cold jest 
like humans, Swiper ? ” interposed Musgrove. 

“ Seems to me it's more of a great big calf 
than a canine,” laughed Piper. “ Pretty 
heavy storm we had, eh ? It was a job clear- 
ing away some of the snow-drifts. Seems to 
me I never worked so hard in my life. How 
did you fellows make out? ” 

“ Well, Piper,” replied Nat Wingate, sitting 
in an indolent fashion near the stove, “ there 
was excitement on our side of the lake, and 
plenty of it, too.” 


i6o The Rambler Club’s 


“ Bob Somers and Hackett had an awful 
time,” ventured Tom Clifton. “ Almost got 
chewed up by wolves.” 

“ By wolves ? ” echoed Heydon, in surprise. 

“ Yes ! We certainly had the fight of our 
lives — and no mistake,” answered Hackett. 
“ You see, Piper, it was this way ” 

A particularly loud whine from the discon- 
solate Bowser interrupted him. 

“ We’ll have to let the poor brute in,” re- 
marked Rex Heydon. “ If we don’t, the 
meeting will be disturbed too much.” 

“ Seems to me,” put in Piper, reflectively, 
“ that I wouldn’t own a dog like that.” 

“ Don’t say nothin’ agin Bowser,” protested 
Tim Sladder, warmly. He opened the door 
to admit the animal, which bounded in with 
a great demonstration of joy. 

“ Now spin your yarn,” said Piper. 

Nat Wingate, quite anxious to see if the 
trio displayed any evidence of guilt, quickly 
spoke up. “ Yardsley had all his furs and 
skins stolen,” he exclaimed, abruptly, and 
pausing to note the effect of his words, he 
glanced sharply at the three young men. 

They seemed profoundly astonished. 


Winter Camp 261 

“ Had his furs stolen?” gasped Piper. 
“ How — when ? ” 

Nat proceeded to tell them, and when he 
had finished Hackett began his tale. 

“ Well, you fellows certainly had a stren- 
uous day, all right,” commented Robson with 
a long breath as he concluded. “ Let’s see — 
say, it happened just about the time I sent up 
the smoke signals, eh?” 

Piper contracted his brow on hearing this, 
and stared reflectively at the floor. “ It 
seems to me,” he began. 

“ Can’t you say nothin’ else than * it seems 
ter me ’ ? ” grinned Musgrove, impudently. 
“ That’s the ninth time yer said it. I counted 
’em.” 

“ Seems to me that you ” 

“ Makes ten ! ” Billy shifted his position 
and chuckled audibly, while Piper glared 
angrily for a moment, then resumed, “ This 
is a pretty serious business, boys. Have you 
seen any one around lately ? ” 

“ No ! ” 

“ And doesn’t Yardsley have any sus- 
picions? ” 

An uncomfortable expression flitted across 


262 


The Rambler Club’s 


Nat Wingate’s face, and slight as it was, 
Piper’s quick eye detected it. 

“ Oh, ho ! ” put in the poet laureate, “ it’s 
all a mystery. Yardsley said yesterday that 
he never expected to find out who took them.” 

A sort of chuckle came from Billy Mus- 
grove, which seemed to irritate Piper con- 
siderably. Heydon, too, looked over with a 
surprised air, remarking, “ I’m sure I can’t 
see what there is to amuse any one in an af- 
fair like this.” 

“ I ain’t said I was amused at the rob’ry,” 
returned Musgrove with another chuckle. 

“ But at something — that’s quite apparent,” 
said Piper. For a moment he remained 
thoughtful, then, as an idea suddenly entered 
his mind, a slight flush crossed his face. 
“ What is this, Wingate ? ” he asked, rather 
sharply. “ What did old Yardsley say ? 
Come, out with it. No need of any mystery.” 

“ Brandon just told you,” answered Nat, 
evasively. 

“ Oh, yes — but I’ll be bound that wasn’t 
all. Look at Musgrove — he can scarcely 
keep his face straight.” 

Silence followed this remark. It was 


Winter Camp 263 

broken by Rex Heydon, who observed, “ I 
guess we can see through a wall when there’s 
a hole in it. What are you afraid of? ” 

“ Afraid ? ” Nat Wingate mechanically re- 
peated the word, then came to a pause, look- 
ing considerably nonplussed. 

Piper turned toward the smallest member of 
the Rambler Club and held up his finger. 
“ Tom Clifton,” he said, with a trace of anger 
in his voice, “I want to know exactly what 
that old trapper had to say ! ” 

But Billy Musgrove interrupted. “ What 
are you gittin’ excited ’bout, Sniper?” he 
asked, the grin leaving his face. “ Why do 
you want ter know what Pardsley says ? ” 

“ I’m not talking to you,” snapped Piper. 
“ Come now — don’t be scared, Tommy,” he 
went on, encouragingly ; “ out with it. Win- 
gate knows, but won’t tell. Kind of lost his 
nerve, perhaps.” 

“ You must think I lose my nerve pretty 
easily,” laughed Nat. 

“ Well, it seems to me — that will do, Mus- 
grove, if my English doesn’t happen to please 
your scholarly mind, I can’t help it — that you 
ought to be frank, Wingate. Your nature 


264 The Rambler Club’s 

may be a little timid — some people are that 
way— and ” 

“ Can’t say I like that,” interrupted Nat, 
his eyes beginning to flash. “ A little timid, 
eh ? I guess you don’t know me very well 
yet, Piper.” 

“ Well, then, we’ll test that a bit — of course 
no offense intended. Now it seems to me ” 

A groan came from Musgrove. Piper cast 
an angry look in his direction, and continued, 
“ Now — -just show me how much nerve you 
have. I can tell that old Yardsleysaid some- 
thing about us — don’t deny it. Really 
doesn’t make any difference, but ” 

Nat Wingate half arose. He felt that all 
eyes were upon him and to be even mildly ac- 
cused of lack of courage made the hot blood 
mount to his face. “ Do you think I’d lose 
my nerve on your account ? ” he exclaimed, 
— “ not much ! ” 

“ Come— come, fellows ! ” expostulated Dave 
Brandon, quietly ; “ there is no need of any 
trouble.” 

“ The idea of him talkin’ like that, when 
Springate’s been insulted,” chuckled Mus- 
grove, in a hoarse whisper. “ This is as good 


Winter Camp 265 

as a circus. But Sniper can’t scare Springate 
none no, sir — not he.” 

“ Piper,” spoke up Robson, at this juncture, 
“you made a mistake in letting Muzz come 
in, after his impudence the other day.” 

“My imperdence?” Billy rose excitedly. 
“My imperdence?” he repeated, furiously. 
“ If that don’t beat all ! I like that — of all the 
sassy fellers I ever run acrost, Sniper, you’re 
the wust.” Musgrove leaned forward — the 
light revealed a face purple with rage. “ But 
yer can’t scare me, or me pal, Tim — no, sir ! ” 

“ And I won’t stand fur no sass, neither,” 
asserted Sladder, taking a stand by the side 
of his chum. “ We ain’t lookin’ fur trouble, 
but when it comes, we kin handle an awful 
lot.” 

Piper glared for a moment at the two boys, 
then arose. “ You will have precious little 
opportunity for handling any around here,” 
he observed, “ or for making any, either.” 

“ ‘ Seems ter me,’ ” retorted Musgrove, also 
arising, “ that it was you what’s been makin’ a 
fuss. I never seen sich a crowd.” 

Charlie Piper was thoroughly incensed. 
“Get out of this cabin, you grinning jacka- 


266 The Rambler Club’s 


napes,” he cried, wrathfully. Then, walking 
to the door, he threw it open. “ Take your- 
selves and that clumsy old brute out of here 
before my temper gets the best of me.” 

“ Oh, we ain’t pertic’lar anxious ter stay,” 
sneered Musgrove, as he spitefully kicked over 
the box on which he had been sitting and 
edged away. “ You’re a nice one — a pertic’lar 
nice one — oh, yes ! An’ Springate ain’t the 
feller I think he is, if he lets hisself be in- 
sulted. Imperdence, eh ? Well, you know 
how ter hand it out, all right.” 

“ An’ I ain’t standing fur no more of it, 
neither,” added Tim Sladder. “ Come on, 
Bowser ! ” And the Stony Creek boys stalked 
slowly and defiantly toward the door. 

“ Nice, pleasant evening,” remarked Nat, 
dryly. 

“Mean anything by that?” queried Piper. 

“ Come now, Charlie,” interposed Heydon. 
“ Those Stony Creek fellows have kind of 
spoiled things. Let it drop.” 

“ If some one had had the courage to speak 
out in a manly fashion, this trouble could all 
have been avoided,” returned the other. 
“ Don’t blame the whole thing on them.” 


Winter Camp 267 

“ Boys ! ” exclaimed Heydon, with a dep- 
recatory gesture. “ No use taking that seri- 
ously. Call the thing ended. Won’t you 
have a cup of coffee ? ” 

“ I think not,” answered Nat, coldly, as he 
arose from his seat. “ Guess I’ll be going, 
too,” he continued. “Hang it all — no matter 
what Yardsley said, it’s no affair of ours.” 

“ Might be better to change the subject 
now,” said Fulmer Robson, with a forced 

laugh, “ and begin ” 

“ I’ll say good-night, fellows,” continued 
Nat, as he took a step toward the door. 
“ Coming along, Hackett ? ” 

“ Well, if you are in such a humor as that,” 
snapped Piper, “ I’ve nothing further to say. 
No doubt that fellow Yardsley thinks we stole 
his furs — I could read it in your face.” 

“ We’re not responsible for another person’s 
opinion,” observed Hackett, a little disap- 
pointed that the row had not assumed larger 
proportions. 

“ Still I notice that no one has the sand to 
let me know what he said.” Piper spoke in 
a most sarcastic tone, and glanced from Hack- 
ett to Wingate. 


268 The Rambler Club’s 


Nat’s brown eyes flashed. “ You’ll admit 
yourself, Piper,” he blurted out, “ that it 
looks mighty singular. Just at the time we 
are sent for, the furs happen to disappear. 
Anybody would be a fool not to ” 

“ That will do,” interrupted Piper, harshly. 
“ The whole crowd of you might as well get 
out. This isn’t the end of the affair by a long 
shot ! ” 

Hackett opened the door. “ And you’ll 
find out that we have as much sand as any- 
body,” he growled. “ Don’t you forget it.” 

“ It needs to be proven,” retorted Piper, 
angrily. “ If you are going, kindly shut the 
door. We don’t care to be frozen out.” 

“If you want proofs,” snapped Hackett, 
“ you’ll get them fast enough. This crowd 
doesn’t take a back seat for anybody.” 

“Very good — but just remember that we’re 
in no mood to be trifled with,” was Piper’s 
parting fling. 

Almost before they realized it, the boys 
found themselves standing outside the cabin, 
wondering at the strange termination of their 
visit. 

Meanwhile Tim Sladder and Billy Mus- 


Winter Camp 269 

grove had not left the vicinity. They con- 
sidered themselves grievously insulted, and 
Bowser, too, had been referred to in the most 
slurring manner. As the two conversed in 
low tones, their anger grew, rather than 
lessened. 

In the full glare of moonlight, the Stony 
Creek boys stood, dark and mysterious against 
a background of silvery white snow, now and 
then turning toward the cabin to make a 
threatening gesture. Finally, instead of re- 
crossing the lake, and moving as if some 
momentous scheme was under way, they 
began to climb the hill back of the cabin. 
It was steep and partially bare of trees. 

On reaching the top, Billy Musgrove 
chuckled — it was a particularly mirthful 
chuckle, and seemed to indicate that his 
wrathful feelings had been swallowed up in 
those of a more pleasant nature. Below, the 
cabin appeared as a dark patch, while a 
glimmer of pale yellow light spread over the 
snow from the window on the other side. 

“ We jest hit the right scheme, Tim,” ex- 
claimed Musgrove, cautiously. “ ’Bout here 
is the spot. We’ll make a whopper, an’ it 


1-jo 


The Rambler Club’s 


oughter swoop down like a streak o’ lightnin . 
That * seems ter me ’ feller will find out it 
ain’t good ter insult us none.” 

Tim Sladder grinned. “ I can hardly 
wait,” he said. “ Here you, Bowser — keep 
quiet. Guess it will surprise ’em some. 
Let’s begin ter scoop it up. Plenty of big 
drifts jest in the right place.” 

“ My, but Springate was mad with Sniper,” 
chuckled Billy. “ Hope they ain’t gone when 
this here punk’n begins a-rollin’.” 

With an energy that would have done 
credit to a more worthy cause, the Stony 
Creek boys began to get together a pile of 
snow. A big mass was pounded and rolled 
together until it became firm and solid. 

They watched the white ball growing into 
formidable dimensions with many stifled 
bursts of laughter, while old Bowser, taking 
a languid interest in the proceedings, gazed 
curiously as it was rolled from place to place 
gathering up more snow. 

“ Hello — believe them chaps is a-comin’ out 
now,” observed Sladder. “ Ain’t that Piper 
a-talkin’ loud ? ” 

“ Guess you’re right, Tim,” chuckled Mus- 


Winter Camp 271 

grove, listening intently. “Sounds like a 
scrap, don’t it? ” 

“ Wouldn’t worry me none, if it was. But 
don’t let ’em see you, Billy.” 

“ This here huckleberry is ’most done an’ 
ready ter roll. Git back a bit, Tim. I can 
see ’em hangin’ around the door. Say — 
there’s Scummers a-callin’ us.” 

“ Let ’im call. We ain’t got no time ter 
gab. Important business on hand.” Tim 
Sladder chuckled and peered cautiously over 
the edge of the declivity. An exclamation of 
impatience escaped him, as he saw several 
dusky figures wending their way toward the 
base of the hill. “By jingo, they must have 
heard us,” he exclaimed. “ Believe they’re 
a-comin’ up, too.” 

Consternation seemed to seize Musgrove. 
“ An’ we jest ready ter start the ball a-rollin’,” 
he growled. “ Quick, Tim — if they once gits 
up, they’ll stop us, maybe. Shove the punk’n 
over, an’ scoot.” 

The boys jumped toward the huge snowball. 
With an effort that taxed all their strength, they 
managed to roll it toward a mass of underbrush, 
then the two disappeared amidst the trees. 


272 


The Rambler Club’s 


The sound of voices from below grew louder, 
and Musgrove, with the greatest caution, pres- 
ently moved forward to a place where he could 
see over the edge of the hill. 

“ What are they a-doin’?” questioned Tim, 
eagerly. 

“ Tryin’ ter mind our business, fur sure — 
the hull crowd is a-comin’ up.” 

“ Right this way ? ” asked Sladder, in alarm. 

“ No I Kinder circlin’ around. Yer can 
yell yer head off, Scummers, but nobody ain’t 
goin’ ter answer.” 

“ Can’t we roll it over now? ” put in Slad- 
der, eagerly. 

“ Best wait.” Billy drew back like a shot. 
“ Thought sure they seed me that time,” he 
whispered. “ Lay low — get down, you 
Bowser.” 

Screening themselves behind a mass of un- 
derbrush, the boys kept their eyes on the oth- 
ers, who, climbing the ‘hill some distance off, 
were occasionally lost to view behind the 
trees. 

Hoping that they would soon be discour- 
aged and give up the search, Sladder and Mus- 
grove remained silent, but as the minutes flew 


Winter Camp 273 

by they saw the Kingswood boys pushing 
steadily up the hill. 

“Ain’t this the meanest luck?” growled 
Sladder, in scarcely audible tones. “ But they 
ain’t a-goin’ ter stop us — no, sir — they ain’t. 
Wow ! They’s a-comin’ this way. Stir your- 
self, Billy ! ” 

“ They must have heerd us, or they wouldn’t 
have been nosin’ around fur fifteen minutes,” 
returned Musgrove, disgustedly. 

Throwing aside all caution, the latter 
straightened up, and with Sladder at his 
heels, boldly walked toward the huge snow- 
ball. 

“Crickets, Billy, this is ’most as heavy as 
lead,” puffed the latter, as he attempted to 
roll it. 

“ It’s a whopper, all right — quick — them 
fellers is a-gittin’ close’t.” 

Putting their shoulders to the mass, they 
shoved it over to the brink of the hill. 

Their presence had now been discovered, for 
Bowser, not understanding the necessity for 
silence, uttered a long, doleful bark. 

“ Get it headed straight, Tim,” exclaimed 
Musgrove, breathing hard. “ Jest a leetle this 


274 


The Rambler Club’s 


way. Aim far them twigs in front, an* it’ll 
land all right.” 

“ Them fellers can’t stop us now,” said Slad- 
der, with a grin of delight. “ Everything 
ready, eh ? — one — two — three ! ” 

From the point where the two stood, there 
was a smooth, steep declivity, then a nearly 
level stretch leading to the cabin. 

Chuckling loudly, the two boys gave the 
enormous ball a mighty shove. 

“ Mind your eye when Swiper an’ Jobson 
come out. Won’t they be wild ? Oh, my, it’s 
a-tearin’ along, eh ? Somethin’ goin’ ter bust, 
sure.” 

Eagerly they kept their eyes on the ball, 
which gathered speed every instant and was 
headed directly for the cabin. 

With an irresistible rush it reached the bot- 
tom of the hill, dashed across the intervening 
stretch like a flash and brought up with a 
frightful bang against the side of the cabin. 
An ominous crashing of timbers followed, 
and gleams of light were seen issuing from 
the spot where it had struck. Then silence 
reigned. 

It was but for an instant, however. With 


Winter Camp 275 

loud shouts of vengeance, three young men, 
wildly excited, issued from the door and made 
a bee-line for seven boys who had come to a 
stop at the summit of the hill. 

Sladder, Musgrove and Bowser melted si- 
lently away into the sombre depths of the 
woods. 


CHAPTER XXV 


SELF-DEFENSE 

The seven Kingswood boys after leaving 
the cabin stood irresolutely for a moment. 

“ Talk about being disgusted/’ sniffed Nat 
Wingate. “ Did you ever meet such a queer 
chap as that Piper ? ” 

“ Listen ! ” exclaimed Tom Clifton, raising 
his hand. “ Didn’t I hear a voice ? ” 

After a short discussion, the group began 
to ascend the hill. They kept a sharp look- 
out for the others, and once or twice shouted 
their names loudly. 

Not being in a hurry and stopping at in- 
tervals to talk, the boys had managed to use 
up the better part of a quarter of an hour 
when a bark from Bowser indicated the posi- 
tion of Sladder and Musgrove. 

“Right over there, eh?” exclaimed Bob 
Somers. 

“ I see ’em,” cried Tom Clifton. “ What in 
the world are they doing ? ” 

276 


Winter Camp 277 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Hackett ; “ I told you 
so. If that isn’t a dandy snowball, and ” 

“ They’re going to send it where it will do 
the most harm, too, I’ll bet,” chuckled Nat. 

“ We ought to stop them,” interposed Bob 
Somers, hastily. 

“ Too late ! They’ve done it,” put in Dick 
Travers. “ Whew ! it’s traveling some, I can 
tell you.” 

“ Ah — ah — but that was a smack for you ! ” 
exclaimed Tom Clifton, breathlessly, as the 
snowball struck the hut. “ Will they ” 

His further speech was interrupted by the 
three hunters, who burst furiously out of the 
door. 

Enraged beyond measure, and fully believ- 
ing that the Kingswood boys were responsible 
for the outrage, they charged toward them. 

“ Guess we’d better make a break for it, 
too ! ” exclaimed Nat Wingate, with a short 
laugh. “ Christopher, I’ll back Tommy against 
Musgrove any time, after seeing this.” 

Swiftly seven figures sped over the snow, 
while at a little distance came Piper and his 
friends, uttering loud calls for them to stop 
and take their medicine. 


278 The Rambler Club’s 

“ Nice, pleasant evening,” observed Nat, for 
the second time. 

“ Oh, ho,” panted Dave, “ society in the 
wilderness — social calls seem somewhat dan- 
gerous.” 

“ Hello ! Got discouraged pretty quick, 
eh ? ” put in Nat, looking over his shoulder. 

The three young men had stopped, then 
began to retrace their steps. Seeing this, the 
boys slowed up, and, breathing hard, reached 
the edge of the lake. 

“ They’re coming out again, fellows,” ex- 
claimed Sam Randall hastily, “ and making 
this way, too.” 

Hackett’s face began to darken. “ We’re 
seven,” he exclaimed, in an angry tone. 
“ Let’s stand up to them.” 

“ Oh, ho — might be better to avoid trouble, 
if possible,” put in Dave Brandon. “ Wait 
’til they get in a more reasonable frame of 
mind.” 

Swiftly the boys began to cut over the icy 
surface. The moon had risen far above the 
hills, casting a silvery light over the broad, 
greenish expanse of lake, and touching the 
snow-drifts with sharp, glinting rays. 


Winter Camp 279 

Glancing over their shoulders, the boys 
saw the dark forms of the pursuers coming 
steadily on. 

It was an exciting chase. Occasionally 
the skaters plunged and floundered through 
snow-drifts, so as to keep a straight course for 
their camp. Gradually the shore grew more 
distinct, the dark, grim trees on the hilltop 
stood out clearly against the moonlit sky. 
Then the huts, bathed in the soft light, came 
into view. 

“ Great Scott ! ” panted Sam Randall. 
“ Look, they have changed their course.” 

Puffing, and almost breathless from the 
wild race, the boys slackened their speed, 
then stopped, to gaze after the forms of the 
hunters now speeding down the lake. 

“ What ? — what do you think of that ? ” 
gasped Nat Wingate. 

“ Looking for Sladder and Musgrove, per- 
haps,” exclaimed Dick Travers, breathing 
hard. 

“ But you can just bet they will be coming 
back,” put in Sam. “ Let’s get over to the 
place and be ready for them.” 

“ It will take more than those chaps to 


280 The Rambler Club’s 

drive us away, too,” declared Bob Somers ; 
“ eh, Chubby ? ” 

“ Fellows,” exclaimed the poet laureate, 
“ what is the first law of nature ? ” 

“ Self-defense.” 

“ Right you are. Now — in order to avoid 
trouble, we have considerably overheated our- 
selves, besides allowing an unjust suspicion to 
rest on the whole crowd.” 

“ Well ? ” said Hackett, fiercely. 

“ It isn’t well. But we can make no more 
concessions to ill temper. Hasty action must 
now meet with its proper reward.” 

“ Hear — hear — what’s coming ? ” 

“Just this — let’s make an enormous 
quantity of white pellets, otherwise known 
as snowballs, and in case hostilities are re- 
sumed, use them with promptness and dis- 
patch.” 

“ You must be going to become a pedagogue, 
Chub,” laughed Hackett. 

“ We are losing valuable time by standing 
here gabbing,” broke in Dick, impatiently. 
“Come ahead.” 

The remaining distance was quickly covered, 
and the boys, once more at the huts, removed 


Winter Camp 281 

their skates, and prepared to follow Dave 
Brandon’s advice. 

In a short time, by hard work, the seven 
boys had collected great piles of ammunition, 
and stood waiting. 

“ I suppose those chaps think that any time 
they choose to come along we’ll run,” ob- 
served Bob Somers. 

“ Piper and the others are pretty strong fel- 
lows,” said Tom Clifton. “ Did you ever 
notice what muscles Heydon has ? I wouldn’t 
like to get in a scrap with him.” 

This remark caused a hearty outburst of 
laughter, which considerably nettled young 
Clifton’s feelings. 

41 Hi, hi — get out of that ! Vamoose — 

skip ! ” 

These cries, uttered in very loud tones, sud- 
denly startled the camp. Tearing around the 
slope of the hill came three figures, with Piper 
well in the lead. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


SNOWBALLS 

“ What do you want ? ” yelled Bob Somers, 
holding up his hand to stay any hasty action. 

“ You’ll find out quick enough,” came an 
angry retort. “ Something has happened to 
Musgrove’s hut.” 

“ Well, nothing is going to happen to ours.” 

“ In just about two minutes ” 

“ Stay where you are, Piper,” interrupted 
Hackett, fiercely. “ We didn’t roll that snow- 
ball against your pile of logs.” 

“ Yes — better keep back ! ” warned Bob. 

The three dark figures continued to advance. 

Seven arms drew back and as many snow- 
balls were sent spinning through the air. 

The invaders, unprepared for so sudden a 
response, fell back in confusion. 

“ You’ll pay dearly for this,” yelled Piper. 

A second hail of missiles, sent with preci- 
sion, whirled against them. Then, before 
they could make a move, others landed with 
282 


Winter Camp 283 

thuds and thumps, until the young men were 
forced to beat a hurried retreat. 

Flying before the fusillade, Piper and his 
companions struck out for the lake, with a 
shower of snowballs rattling about them. 
Their anger and chagrin at finding themselves 
helpless before the machine-like attacks of the 
boys was unbounded. 

“ Oh, my, what a rout,” puffed Nat, with a 
delighted grin. “ Ha, ha ! Guess Piper must 
be about boiling over.” 

“ Hello ! My gracious — what’s that? ” 
Dave Brandon, who had interrupted the 
speaker, pointed across the lake. 

A dull, fitful light had appeared, which 
gradually grew brighter, until a tongue of 
flame shot upward. 

“ Their cabin’s afire,” gasped Nat Wingate. 
“ Gee ! look at that ! ” 

Hackett gave a lusty shout. “ Hello, 
you pill-throwers,” he cried ; “ look across 
the lake, and run for the fire company around 
the corner. Whoop — your shanty’s a goner ! ” 
Hostilities ceased on the instant. Piper and 
his companions gave one shout, and then be- 
gan a rapid flight toward their camp. 


284 The Rambler Club’s 

“ It’s getting bigger and bigger,” declared 
Travers, excitedly. 

“ I’d bet on those chaps in a race, now, 
Hacky,” said Sam Randall. “ Shall we go 
over and give them a hand ?” 

With all speed, the boys strapped on their 
skates, and, fairly leaping over the snow, 
made for the ice. 

“ Cracky — look at it now ! ” observed Tom 
Clifton. “ Aren’t those flames bright ? Won’t 
be anything but a pile of cinders when we get 
there.” 

John Hackett quickly took the lead, his 
long legs fairly seeming to fly, but Bob Somers 
pushed him closely. The flames grew 
brighter, and a veil of smoke could be seen 
drifting slowly in front of the dark trees, to 
rise like a blur against the clear, moonlit sky. 

“ Nothing can save the old shanty now,” 
cried Hackett. “ My eye — wow ! — Say ! 
We’re sold — everybody sold ! If this doesn’t 
beat all ! ” 

In making a long detour, so as to avoid a 
field of snow, the other side of the cabin came 
in view, disclosing an enormous bonfire, built 
at a safe distance from the structure. The 


Winter Camp 285 

flames, leaping furiously upward, cast a bright 
glare around. 

For a moment there was silence, then a 
roar of merriment broke forth. 

“ Oh, my ! ” laughed Nat Wingate, holding 
his sides; “this is the richest joke }^et. It’s 
Musgrove’s work — ha, ha ! That’s the time 
he outdid old Yardsley.” 

“ It’s the biggest bonfire I ever saw/’ 
laughed Sam Randall. “ Guess they must 
have seen those chaps chasing us across the 
lake.” 

A couple of dark figures were seen to emerge 
from a mass of trees to their left, and strike 
out on the lake. 

“ Sladder and Musgrove,” asserted Bob 
Somers. “ You can’t mistake Muzzy for any 
one else.” In a few moments the two joined 
them. 

“ Don’t believe you’ll find much left of your 
hut,” said Tom Clifton. 

“ No odds, sonny,” replied Musgrove, calmly; 
“ we didn’t git the wust of it by a long shot.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A CAVE AND A BEAR 

Two days later, the boys, on a hunting ex- 
pedition, in company with John Yardsley, 
stood on a barren ridge and saw before them 
a succession of rolling, snow-clad hills. Lake 
Wolverine had been left far behind, and the 
region was wild and desolate. 

“ A stormy time of it ye must hev had 
t’other night, cap’n,” remarked the trapper, 
reflectively. “Sorry now I spoke ag’in them 
fellers so quick,” he went on. “ Suppose, if it 
hadn’t been fur Musgrove actin’ the way he 
did, mebbe nothin’ would hev happened, but, 
arter all, I really done it — I’m sorry ’nough.” 

“ I never saw such a sensitive chap as Piper,” 
said Bob. “ He reminds me of a firecracker.” 

“ D’ye think those young scamps damaged 
their cabin much ? ” 

“ We didn’t think it best to stay and find 
out,” laughed Bob ; “ but I’ll bet one side was 
nearly caved in.” 


286 


Winter Camp 287 

“ An’ what did Piper an’ his crowd do ter 
Musgrove’s hut? ” 

“ Not much — Billy and Tim fixed it up 
pretty quickly.” 

On reaching the base of the hill the march 
was continued along a timbered valle}'. Here 
and there, shafts of sunlight, finding their way 
between the trees, made the snow gleam with 
dazzling whiteness, while the frostwork cover- 
ing underbrush and boughs sparkled brightly. 

Snowbirds flitted about, and, as if rejoicing 
in the weather, the redbirds uttered their 
cheerful notes, and occasionally darted like a 
flash of flame against the darker background. 
Chattering squirrels leaped lightly from branch 
to branch, and rabbits, disturbed by the in- 
trusion, quickly disappeared in the friendly 
shelter of tangled thickets. 

“ Hey ! Where are you bound for, Hacky ? ” 
asked Nat, as the slim boy ambled slowly 
ahead. 

“Just going to look around a bit. Say, 
Somers, want to come along ? — good ! ” 

“ Don't stay long, cap’n,” interposed Yards- 
ley ; “ an' by the time yer git back, we’ll 
have a good blaze a-goin’.” 


288 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Let’s go around the point,” suggested 
Hackett, with a move of his hand, indicating 
a part of the hill which jutted out for a con- 
siderable distance. 

Keeping a careful watch for game, the hunt- 
ers glided ahead with long, swinging strides, 
soon passing and skirting around the point. 
The rocks rose rather abruptly for a short 
distance, then sloped upward in a gentle curve. 

Bob, who was several yards distant from 
his companion, suddenly stopped and gazed 
earnestly toward the rocks. Hackett, puz- 
zled at his action, followed suit, without see- 
ing anything more than a mass of underbrush. 

“ There’s a cave over there,” declared Bob. 

“ I don’t see anything.” 

“ You will from here.” 

“ Yes, it’s a cave,” said Hackett, a moment 
later, with great interest, “ and we ought to 
take a look inside.” 

Spreading the bushes apart, Hackett boldly 
pushed inside. 

“ Talk about blackness,” came a muffled 
voice, as the twigs rustled back in place. 
“ Whew ! a lump of pitch would make a 
light in here.” 


289 


Winter Camp 

“ Better strike a match.” 

A few moments passed, then Hackett fol- 
lowed his companion's advice, and a feeble 
light flickered against the blackness. 

“ How big is it? ” began Bob, with his face 
close to the opening. “ I ” 

But his further words were stopped by a loud 
yell. It came with such abruptness, and ex- 
pressed so much fright, that Bob Somers j umped 
quickly backward, with an exclamation. 

Before he had time to frame a question, 
Hackett suddenly reappeared, without his 
rifle. His eyes were wild and staring, and, 
almost hurling himself through the opening, 
he sprawled in the snow. 

“ What — what’s the matter? ” cried Bob, in 
alarm. 

The slim boy instantly picked himself up, 
and, with a terror-stricken glance over his 
shoulder, yelled, hoarsely, “ Mind your eye, 
Somers ! Lose yourself ! It’s big as a house, 
and cornin’ right out ! ” 

Blending in with his words came a deep, 
ominous growl. Then another, rising in a 
sort of crescendo, while a pair of eyes sud- 
denly flashed against the blackness. Then a 


290 


The Rambler Club’s 


huge black bear, evidently furious at having 
bis domain invaded, lumbered forth, while 
the two boys, with rapidly beating hearts, 
retreated. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bob saw Hack- 
ett’s long legs fairly flying over the ground. 
But bruin was not particular as to whom he 
should charge. Lunging forward, the ani- 
mal, with a hoarse growl, made directly for 
him. 

Though his nerves tingled with excitement, 
Bob Somers quickly recovered his wits. As 
the bear rose on its hind legs, he fired point- 
blank. 

His bullet only rendered the beast still more 
furious. Dropping upon all fours, and ac- 
companying the act by another angry snarl, 
he charged again, with such suddenness and 
speed, that Bob Somers had scarcely time to 
dodge aside. Before he could make another 
move, the ponderous beast again rose. 

For an instant it seemed as if nothing could 
save him. But Bob Somers, despite the un- 
steady feeling which attacked his legs at this 
critical moment, mastered himself, and fired 
again. 


291 


Winter Camp 

Almost simultaneously with the sharp re- 
port of the rifle, bruin crashed heavily to the 
ground and lay in a heap. His head sank 
low, and all the dignity of his towering 
strength was gone. 

For an instant Bob Somers, scarcely realiz- 
ing that the peril was over, stood gazing at 
the animal, half expecting to see it arise and 
renew the attack. Then, moving cautiously 
forward, he touched the motionless form with 
the muzzle of his rifle, and his face flushed 
with triumph. 

“ Hello — hello ! ” came a hail from the 
distance. It was Sam Randall’s voice, and 
looking up, they saw him waving his hand. 

“ Come on over ! ” yelled Bob, anxious to 
show his prize. 

Sam, perceiving that something unusual 
had occurred, soon joined them. 

He opened his eyes wide with astonish- 
ment when he saw the great, dark form 
stretched out in the snow. 

“ Who shot him ? ” he exclaimed, excitedly. 
“You, Bob? Well, I was never more sur- 
prised in my life ! ” 

“ And won’t I have a dandy souvenir of 


292 


The Rambler Club’s 


the trip, Sam ! ” exclaimed Bob, gleefully. 
“Just look at that slick coat ! I’ll get Yards- 
ley to skin him — but come on — I want to see 
Chubby open his eyes.” 

“What’s the matter, cap’n?” exclaimed 
Yardsley, as the three appeared. “ You look 
kinder joyous ! ” 

“ Had a little adventure over there, and 
shot a bear,” said Bob, with sparkling eyes. 

A variety of exclamations greeted his 
words. The speaker, with great satisfaction, 
then told his story. 

“ Jest listen ter him,” exclaimed Yardsley, 
delighted. “ Cap’n, I’m proud of yer. A 
born hunter — an’ never lost yer nerve, I’ll be 
bound.” 

Lunch was soon over, and the group of 
hunters hurried to the scene of the encounter. 

“ H’m — a regular monster,” cried Tom 
Clifton with wide-open eyes, as they ap- 
proached. “Just look at those paws! One 
crack and it would have been all over, eh ? ” 

“ That it would,” agreed Yardsley. 

“ But how about the bear’s skin ? ” asked 
Bob, eagerly. “ I’d give anything to take 
it home with me.” 


2 93 


Winter Camp 

“ Make yer mind easy on that score, cap’n. 
I’ll tend ter the hull thing fur yer to-morrer. 
An’ a bit of bear meat won’t go bad, either. 
We’ll jest drag him back where he come from, 
block up the hole, an’ yours truly will fix 
the rest.” 

In a short time, the party came in sight of 
a lake. The opposite shore, fringed with a 
dark line of evergreens, became almost lost in 
a veil of bluish haze which enveloped the 
distance, while against the sky rose a line of 
low snow-clad hills. 

“ That there we call Goose Lake,” an- 
nounced Yardsley, “ an’ it’s a good name, too, 
fur durin’ the fall yer never seen so many of 
them birds in yer life as comes ’round.” 

“ Many here now? ” asked Hackett, eagerly. 

The trapper shook his head. “ Yer kin see 
’em, but they ain’t plentiful.” 

The lake was soon crossed, and on reaching 
the opposite shore they found themselves in a 
pine forest, dark, sombre and silent. In about 
twenty minutes the trapper held out his hand 
as a signal to halt. 

“ We’re right by the shore,” he whispered, 
“ an’ the geese is somewhere near.” 


294 The Rambler Club’s 

Silently, the group spread out, each one 
heading for the lake, which could be seen be- 
tween the trees. 

To the eager and expectant hunters, it 
seemed an age before they reached the edge of 
the woods. Again Yardsley held up his hand. 

Upon a gravelly bank which a combination 
of circumstances had kept partially free from 
snow was a flock of geese. 

As it was still too far off to make it worth 
while to risk a shot, the hunters, scarcely 
breathing, crept slowly on. 

Finally Yardsley paused. He looked at the 
boys, nodded, and raised his gun, the others 
instantly following suit. A roar, as the re- 
ports blended in one tremendous volume of 
sound, fairly deafened them all ; the separated 
wreaths of smoke joined into a bluish cloud, 
while the eager hunters dashed quickly for- 
ward. 

Swiftly flying against the clear blue sky, 
could be seen all of the flock that had escaped 
the massacre, and there, on the ground, lay 
many birds — ten in all. 

“ This here is Goose Lake, an’ them is 
geese,” remarked Yardsley, dryly. 


Winter Camp 295 

A loud cheer followed his words, 

“ Simply great, isn’t it?” cried Nat, en- 
thusiastically. 

“ And all big fellows, too,” commented Bob 
Somers, gleefully. “ We’ll have a feast fit for 
a king.” 

It was unanimously decided to return at 
once to camp. 

It was a long, toilsome tramp, and the sun 
hung low on the horizon when Yardsley’s log 
cabin at length came in view. 

“ I am so glad,” sighed Dave Brandon, 
wearily. “ I can scarcely move.” 

“ What is that stuck on the door ? ” asked 
Bob Somers, as his eye caught sight of a 
white patch showing out clearly against the 
logs. 

“ It looks like a sheet of paper,” asserted 
Nat Wingate. 

“ Powerful strange,” commented Yardsley. 
“ Some chap must hev left his visitin’ card — 
an’ it’s tacked on, too.” 

In a moment, the trapper tore the paper loose. 

As he turned it over, and glanced at a mes- 
sage written on the reverse side, he gave an 
exclamation of astonishment. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 

“What is it?” questioned Bob Somers, 
with interest. 

“ The most powerful strange thing I ever 
hearn tell of, cap’n.” 

“ Hurry up, and tell us,” put in Nat, im- 
patiently. 

“ Cap’n, read it ter the lads.” Yardsley ex- 
tended the paper. 

Bob whistled. “ This is the funniest thing 
yet,” he exclaimed. “ Listen : 

“ * If you want to know where your furs are 
hidden, go to the place where you found the 
sled. There is a gully about fifty feet to the 
north. It is half full of snow, and a stick 
marks the spot. Dig — dig — and dig some 
more. Yours, The Unterrified Band of Near- 
Bandits/ ” 

“ I don’t understand this,” said the trapper, 
blankly, scratching his head. “ It can’t be 
296 


Winter Camp 297 

that them furs weren’t stole, arter all ? Bless 
me, what does it mean ? ” He stared in a be- 
wildered manner at the others. 

“ That this is a very funny region,” mused 
the poet laureate. “ It’s another one of those 
things that makes a fellow’s head ache to think 
about.” 

But the trapper’s hopeful expression soon 
vanished. He shook his head, soberly. “ No 
sich luck, mate,” he said. “ This here is jest 
the work ” 

“ Of the Bounding Brotherhood of Brilliant 
Jokers,” broke in Nat, with a laugh. “ Do 
you suppose that this is Musgrove’s doings ? ” 

Hackett sniffed. He picked up the paper, 
which had fallen in the snow, and held it un- 
der his chum’s nose. “ Look at that writing, 
and tell me if you think either Sladder or 
Musgrove could have done it,” he said. And 
as a doubting look came over Nat Wingate’s 
face, he added, significantly, “ How about the 
Piper gang ? Perhaps they are trying to get 
square with Yardsley for suspecting them, eh, 
Chubby ? ” 

“ I feel myself drifting into deep thought, 
in spite of everything,” replied the stout boy, 


298 The Rambler Club’s 

solemnly. “ You may be right, Hackett. It 
does look that way — just a hoax.” 

“ An’ what’s your opinion, cap’n ? ” 

“ That you’d better do as this paper says.” 

“ Then I’ll take yer advice. It can’t do no 
harm.” 

As no amount of discussion could solve the 
mystery, the subject was finally changed. 

“Then we’ll see you in the morning, eh?” 
asked Bob Somers, as they trooped out. 

“ Yer sartingly will — good-night ! ” 

The young hunters lost no time in reaching 
camp, and, tired from their long tramp, im- 
mediately turned in. 

Early next morning, John Yardsley skated 
across Lake Wolverine, and half an hour later 
the boys saw him returning, in company with 
Piper and his friends. 

“ Humph ! ” muttered Hackett, “ here comes 
that nice crowd again.” 

“ Don’t care, I’m sure,” said Nat, with a 
rather peculiar glance toward Piper. 

To their surprise, however, the hunters from 
across the lake greeted them pleasantly. 

“ Boys,” said Robinson, with an embarrassed 
air, “ too bad about that little misunderstand- 


Winter Camp 299 

ing we had the other night. We were certain 
it was you who rolled the snowball. ” 

“ Why didn’t you take a little time to find 
out ? ” interposed Nat Wingate, curtly, with a 
flash of his brown eyes. 

“ Oh, come now,” put in Heydon, “ no hard 
feelings. We’re not any of us perfect, you 
know.” 

“ Well,” said Hackett, “ what made you fel- 
lows change your minds, after being so 
sure? ” 

“ The fact is,” said Robson, with a sorry at- 
tempt to appear at his ease, “ we found a note 
under the door of the shack. It was written 
by that precious young scamp, Musgrove, and 
he said that you fellows had nothing to do 
with it.” 

“How was the handwriting? ” asked Bob 
Somers, quickly. 

“ Villainous, the spelling remarkable, and 
the. grammar on a par with Musgrove’s intel- 
lectual expression.” 

“ Then,” said the poet laureate in a low 
tone to Bob Somers, “ the mystery deepens.” 

“ We came over yesterday to tell you about 
it,” added Piper, “ but no one was here.” 


3 °° 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ Wal, lads, as these young gentlemen 
think it might be a good plan ter go an’ dig 
fur them skins, I think we’d best be goin’,” 
said Yardsley. 

Armed with two shove]s,t he party soon 
started off on their strange expedition. 

“ If it wasn’t fine weather you wouldn’t 
catch me on such a wild goose chase as this,” 
growled Hackett. “ Look at Yardsley — by 
the way he’s getting along, you might think 
he had discovered a gold mine.” 

Without hesitation, the trapper kept on, 
and finally, to the great relief of his tired 
followers, slowed down considerably. 

“ We’re gittin’ near there, mates,” he an- 
nounced. “ Now you fellers divide up, an’ 
look fur the gully what the note speaks about.” 

This suggestion was quickly acted upon, 
and in the course of a few minutes a hail was 
heard from Sam Randall. 

“ Look ! ” cried Sam, eagerly. He held up 
a paper. “ I fished it off the stick with a 
branch,” he explained. 

“ Another message? ” asked Bob Somers. 

Sam laughed and proceeded to read the fol- 
lowing : 


Winter Camp 301 

“ ‘ This is the place. Dig — dig — and dig 
some more. 

“ ‘ The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.' ” 

“ Great wits, eh ? ” laughed Piper. “ Give 
me a shovel ; well soon find out something." 

Heydon followed his example, and, with 
much vigor, the young men attacked the 
work. Snow fairly flew off to the sides, while 
an eager group crowded expectantly around. 

“ Only a hoax ! ” groaned Yardsley, as the 
minutes flew by and nothing was revealed. 

Heydon finally paused, a look of disgust 
came over his face, and he was about to make 
some remark, when Robson's shovel struck a 
hard object. 

“Hello! What's this — a box?" he ex- 
claimed. 

“ Doesn’t feel as if anything was in it," re- 
marked Heydon, giving the box a rude shove 
with his foot. 

“ The mean rascal," groaned Yardsley. 
“ All this tramp fur nothin' — jest ter find an 
empty box — never was so riled in my life." 

A portion of the cover being loose, Robson 
ripped it off, and putting his hand inside, 
drew out another paper. 


3°2 


The Rambler Club’s 


“ All ha ! Maybe this is a solution of the 
mystery ! ” he cried. But, as his glance fell 
upon it, an impatient exclamation escaped 
him. “ Of all the foolish stuff, this is the 
worst. Listen ! 

“ ' Go back where you came from/ ” he 
read, “ ‘ and consider yourselves being laughed 
at. Ha, ha ! U. R. Easy. 

“ * Yours — The Unterrified Band of Near- 
Bandits ! 7 77 

“ What does this mean ? ” cried Piper, 
sternly, looking from one to another. A 
queer light gleamed in his eye. 

“ And we working like slaves,” cried 
Robson, angrily. 

“See here, Yardsley, and you chaps,” broke 
in Piper, now quite convinced that they had 
been duped, “ I have my opinion of a man of 
your age who does such tricks ! ” 

Piper spoke in a loud and threatening man- 
ner, while Robson and Heydon seemed no 
less angry than himself. 

“ Softly,” interrupted Yardsley. “Human 
natur 7 is queer — a bad case of misunderstandin 7 
t’other night, an 7 a powerful wuss one now. 


Winter Camp 303 

I have a failin’, I’ll admit, but on my honor, 
Piper, this time the joke is on me.” 

His sincerity could not be doubted, and the 
three young men began to feel that they had 
acted too hastily. 

“ Well,” said Piper, stiffly, “ it looked 
mighty suspicious.” 

“ Like the other night,” snapped Hackett. 

“ Oh, come now,” put in Bob Somers, “ a 
wretched joke like this is enough to put any 
one in a bad humor, but there’s no use in 
quarreling.” 

“ That’s right, Somers,” observed Robson, 
thoughtfully, “ and we can’t find out anything 
by talking here all day.” 

“ Jest so,” sighed Yardsley. “ We might as 
well git back.” 

“ We come out with great hopes,” sighed 
Yardsley, as he pushed open the cabin door. 
“ Bless me, it was mean — give me the shovels, 
mates. I’ll put ’em in the storehouse.” 

He opened the door which led to it, then 
the others heard a sharp exclamation. 

“ What’s up now ? ” called Bob. 

Yardsley did not answer, but hurriedly 
crossing the room, opened the outer door, ad- 


304 The Rambler Club’s 

mitting a flood of daylight. Then, almost 
speechless with astonishment, he stood, staring 
about him with wide open eyes, while the 
others crowded in. 

“ What is it ? ” cried Bob — he stopped short, 
with a gasp. 

There, neatly piled on shelves or stretched 
out on boards were the trapper’s furs, exactly 
as he had arranged them before. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE NEAR-BANDITS 

Yardsley glanced from one to another with 
a helpless expression, then stared at the 
bundles of furs as if doubting that he saw 
aright, while a variety of exclamations came 
from the astonished boys. 

“ Never was so beat in all my life,” mur- 
mured the trapper, scratching his head. 
“ Honest, cap'n ! Ter think of goin’ off on a 
chase like that, an’ then findin' the hull 
shootin' match when we gits back.” 

Piper surveyed the speaker with a peculiar 
expression. 

“ And these are the furs and skins you 
claimed to have lost, Yardsley,” he said, with 
strong emphasis. 

“ The identical ones, jist as they was afore.” 

“ And how do you account for their being 
back on the shelves again?” 

“ Yer got me thar, Piper. Bless me — I don't 
know." 


305 


306 The Rambler Club’s 

“ Perhaps you will tell us that some wood- 
land fairy boldly entered through a crack 
under the door, moved her little wand, and 
presto — the furs sailed through the air and 
landed on the shelves again — is that it ? ” 
asked Piper, with a sarcastic smile. 

“ Never seen sich chaps as ye be,” said 
Yardsley, impatiently. “ How many more 
times must I tell yer the joke’s on me?” 

“ It strikes me,” put in Bob Somers, quietly, 
“ that we can soon find out how the cabin was 
visited.” 

“ Of course,” laughed Dave, “ they either 
came in through the doors or window. Don’t 
think we need consider the stovepipe.” 

“ Well, the door we came in by was pad- 
locked, I believe,” said Piper, stiffly. 

“ Quite correct.” 

“ And the window is probably fastened.” 

Piper led the way into the main room, and 
Dave tried the window. 

“ Correct, again,” he said. 

“ How about the storehouse door, Yards- 
ley?” asked Piper. 

“ Wal,” replied the trapper, with a faint 
grin, “ we can’t tell much from that, mates. 



“ HOW ABOUT THE STOREHOUSE DOOR?” 




















Winter Camp 307 

When them furs was taken out, the bolt 
was knocked clean off. Then, not havin' 
nothin' of value left, I never fixed it." 

“ Nothing forgotten," sneered Piper. 

“ Hello, I believe there is another paper up 
there," broke in Dave Brandon, abruptly. 

“ Where, Chubby ? " asked Dick. 

“ Sticking out over that bundle ! " 

The poet laureate spread the paper out, 
started to read, then suddenly paused. 

“ What's the matter ? " asked Piper. He 
leaned over the stout boy's shoulder. “ H’m, 
I don't wonder you stopped," he added. 
“ Here's what it says, Heydon : 

“ < We feel sorry for the poor chump who 
dug, dug, dug. Oh, say — was it a hard job? 
Did your back ache? After this, consider 
yourself easy. Sit down and think it over. 

“ ‘ The Unterrified Band of Near- Bandits.' 

“That settles it," sneered Piper, wrathfully. 
“But we don't need to sit down and think it 
over. We’ll stand up and think, and tell you 
what we think— of you. In the first place, 
Yardsley, I didn’t know you wrote such a 
good hand. — My compliments." 


308 The Rambler Club’s 

The trapper looked at the angry face of his 
visitor and had difficulty in repressing a 
smile. “ Young feller,” he said, “ I allow it 
all looks kinder queer, an’ mebbe I shouldn’t 
blame ye, but I tell yer fur the last time that 
this ain’t none of my doin’s, an’ I want yer 
ter believe ” 

A series of wild war-whoops suddenly in- 
terrupted him. Then, from behind a clump 
of trees, to the astonishment of all, Musgrove, 
Sladder and Bowser stepped slowly forth. 

The Stony Creek boys presented a strange 
and picturesque appearance. Their cheeks 
were liberally daubed with red and white 
chalk ; each wore a thick bunch of goose 
feathers in his cap, and carried in his right 
hand a club of tremendous size. 

“ We’re the Unterrified Band of Near-Ban- 
dits ! ” roared Sladder, swinging his club 
vigorously. 

“ An’ ain’t afear’d of nothin’ that walks ! ” 
yelled Musgrove. “ Ha, ha — Pardsley won’t 
never try no more funny tricks on us — ha, 
ha ! ” 

“Ye young scamps,” cried Yardsley, but 
there was no anger in his voice. His eyes 


Winter Camp 309 

beamed, and he chuckled, as the “ Unterrified 
Band ” defiantly leaned on their clubs. “ Wal 
— wal! Paid back in me own coin, eh? It 
sartingly beats all ! Them two chaps hev 
been clean too much fur us ! ” 

Fulmer Robson walked forward, extending 
his hand. “ Yardsley,” he said, “ please ac- 
cept my apologies. Too bad that this row 
occurred. I hope you have no hard feelings?” 

“ Not I ! ” replied the trapper, heartily. 

“ Ha, ha — look at Sniper an’ Pardsley 
a-shakin’ hands,” cried Musgrove. “ Oh, ain’t 
it a purty sight, Tim? — Hey — want us ter 
come over? No more funny tricks, eh, Pards- 
ley ? ” he asked suspiciously. 

“ Nary a thing — my word on it. All bad 
feelin’s declared off.” 

The Stony Creek boys conferred together a 
moment, then, tightly clutching their clubs, 
marched forward. 

But Yardsley’s good-natured smile soon dis- 
sipated their fears. 

“ What’s that, Pardsley — who writ them 
notes? — Why, me pal, Tim Sladder — he’s a 
scholar, he is — yes, sir.” 

“ Took a prize at school,” asserted Sladder, 


310 


The Rambler Club’s 


proudly. “ Keep me dad’s books. I kin 
spell, too, all right, you bet.” 

“ You sartingly can,” laughed Yardsley. 
“ Now, boys, tell us how yer done all these 
things, an’ we’ll call it square.” 

Billy Musgrove laughed. “ Well, Pardsley, 
I tole yer in the fust place ter never try no 
more tricks on us.” 

“ But how my friend, the animalist, 
would laugh at the way yer paid me back,” 
said Yardsley, soothingly ; “ bless me, he 
would.” 

“ Wal, of course, we know’d all about yer 
havin’ the furs,” said Musgrove, “ an’ watched 
our chance ter git ’em. Tim an’ me pried 
open the door, took the stuff, an’ hid the hull 
business under a pile of hemlock boughs. 
Then we covered it with snow.” He pointed 
toward a thick copse of woods only a short 
distance off. 

“ Did yer ever hear the beat of it ? ” said 
the trapper. 

“ Yer own fault, Yardsley. Tim an’ me 
puts a big rock on a sled, an’ hikes away, an’ 
if it hadn’t been fur the storm yer’d have 
gone a sight further than yer did, eh, Tim ? ” 


Winter Camp 311 

11 Lucky for you we didn’t know about it at 
the time,” said Hackett. 

“ Huh ! ” Billy straightened up. “ An’ 
what would you an’ Scummers have did, eh ? ” 

“ Finish yer tale, lad,” put in Yardsley. 

“ Ain’t much more ter say. Tim an’ me 
didn’t think the storm would turn out so bad, 
Wackett — that’s honest. Anyways, we ain’t 
a-goin’ ter stay around these parts much 
longer, so Tim writ that note an’ fixed it on 
the door. We had lots of time ter put them 
furs back, Pardsley, an’ mebbe yer ain’t been 
laughed at.” 

“ Wal,” said Yardsley, “ I’m powerful glad 
ter git them furs back, an’ jist as powerful 
glad that good feelin’s been restored. Shake 
hands with Piper, lads, an’ we’ll call every- 
thing all right. Let’s bury the hatchet. 

“ Now, fellers,” added Yardsley, “ I’ll expect 
the hull crowd of yer ter come over here to- 
morrer night, an’ pertake of the finest feast 
yer ever hearn tell of.” 

A unanimous chorus of assent immediately 
came from his hearers. 


CHAPTER XXX 


BURYING THE HATCHET 

Early on the following morning, the boys, 
accompanied by Yardsley, set out with a 
couple of sleds to get Bob Somers’ bear. 

The carcass was found undisturbed, and the 
trapper immediately set to work to skin it, 
the “ cap’n ” assisting to the best of his ability. 
Yardsley cut up the meat, which the boys 
then placed upon the sleds. 

The clouds were still edged with the tints 
of sunset when Piper and his companions ar- 
rived, and shortly before dusk three dark 
figures were seen slowly approaching, Bowser 
giving evidence of his presence by his usual 
doleful bark. 

“ Evenin’, people ! ” greeted Billy Mus- 
grove. “ Hello, Wackett, — bear meat? H’m, 
smells good, don’t it? Me an’ Tim hasn’t 
eaten nothin’ all day — gittin’ ready fur this.” 

“ An’ yer done well,” said Yardsley. “ It’s 
pitch in an’ help yerself, ’til natur’ cries 
enough.” 


312 


3*3 


Winter Camp 

Nightfall came, and the fire sent up tower- 
ing flames and showers of sparks, illuminating 
the surroundings with a fitful glare. The 
feast was ready. 

“ An’ ter think that Scummers shot a bear,” 
remarked Musgrove, reflectively, as he sliced 
off a huge piece of meat ; “ an’ me an’ Tim 
ain’t seen one for a year, ’most.” 

At length the banquet was over ; sighs of 
contentment came from many. 

“ An occasion sich as this ain’t never com- 
plete without a bit of speech-makin’,” sug- 
gested Yardsley, with a glance around. “ Who 
wants ter start the ball a-rollin’ ? ” 

Dave Brandon slowly arose. 

“ I feel uncommonly like taking a nap,” he 
said, with a smile, “ but I suppose somebody 
must say a few words at such an auspicious 
time.” 

“ He knows some big ones, all right,” came 
a hoarse whisper from Musgrove. 

“I think,” continued Dave, “ our winter 
camp has been a great success. Best of all, 
our friend, Nat Wingate, is now sound as a 
dollar. Life in the open has taught us many 
lessons, among them habits of self-reliance, 


3*4 


The Rambler Club’s 


and willingness to work. Oh, yes, I’ve 
watched you many times, boys, and was 
pleased to note the energy of everybody ex- 
cept yours truly. It’s a good sign. We know 
that town boys can be hunters, and trappers 
gentlemen, and that a dinner in the wilds can 
furnish more enjoyment than one in the rich- 
est dining-room. I think I voice the senti- 
ments of all, when I say that we greatly appre- 
ciate the efforts of our host, John Yardsley, and 
that we are thankful the bear furnished a meal 
for us, and not Bob Somers for the bear.” 

A burst of cheers arose, as the poet laureate, 
beaming good-naturedly, sat down, and Mus- 
grove was heard to remark, “ There’s a smart 
lad fur yer, Tim — talks like one of the real 
speechers.” 

“ Our stout young friend has spoken 
words of wisdom,” began Yardsley, rising. 
“ I must say I never enjoyed a winter like 
this in me life, an’ I hate ter think of yer 
leavin’. These here woods will sartingly 
seem like a silent, dreary place, arter this. I 
can say, without meanin’ ter flatter no one, 
that I never come acrost a likelier crowd of 
young chaps — success ter ye all ! ” 


Winter Camp 315 

The banquet was voted a grand success by 
everybody, and the moon had risen high in the 
heavens before the visitors began their march 
to camp. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


yakdsley’s last joke 

In the latter part of March, the Kingswood 
high school had been restored to its former 
condition, and on the Saturday before the re- 
opening a great crowd of boys trooped through 
the building. 

In the assembly room they saw just above 
the platform, resting on a bracket, a stuffed 
eagle, with wings outstretched in an attitude 
of flight. Beneath was a card which stated 
that the donor was Thomas Clifton, of Kings- 
wood. It was a proud day for the young 
member of the Rambler Club. 

Those who got a glimpse inside the presi- 
dent’s office also saw a beautiful silver gray 
fox over the bookcase, and the reputation of 
the young hunters was now firmly established. 

John Hackett’s fawn had arrived safely, 
and was enjoying life in comfortable quarters. 
The huge bearskin had been converted into a 
rug and adorned a room in Mr. Somers’ house. 

One afternoon, just after school had begun, 
316 


Winter Camp 317 

Bob Somers was seated in his study, engaged 
on the very problem which had occupied his 
attention on the night of the fire, when a do- 
mestic called him to the speaking tube. 

“ Mr. Griffin is in the drawing-room, and 
wishes to see you, Mr. Robert,” she said. 

“ Mr. Griffin/’ repeated Bob ; “ guess he 
wants to see dad.” 

But the girl was quite certain that she had 
made no mistake. 

“ Well, tell him I’ll be down,” said Bob, in 
a puzzled tone. He closed his book and de- 
scended to the drawing-room. 

As he entered, a tall, thin man with 
rugged, kindly features rose to meet him. 

For an instant, Bob did not recognize his 
well-dressed visitor. Then, like a flash, 
memory served him. Yet in this man, clean- 
shaven and sprucely attired, there was little 
to suggest the trapper they had known in the 
wilds. 

“ Yardsley ! ” he gasped, in the greatest as- 
tonishment, wringing his hand. “ Why — 
how — it scarcely seems possible — and Maggie 
made such a mistake — said Mr. Griffin 
wanted to see me.” 


318 The Rambler Club’s 

“ She was quite correct/’ laughed the 
other — “ J. Yardsley Griffin, at your service.” 

Bob stared at him in surprise. 

Mr. Griffin seemed to be considerably 
amused, and continued, slowly, “ You know 
I promised to call on you — and I make it a 
point to always keep my word.” 

Bob Somers’ astonishment was growing. 
The trapper’s manner of speech had changed 
as much as his appearance. There was no 
suggestion of the backwoods vernacular, and 
divining his thoughts, Mr. Griffin laughed. 

“ I am fond of a practical joke, as you 
know,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, 
“ and I must confess that I practiced an in- 
nocent deception. Let me add to my intro- 
duction — graduate of Harvard, 1885. I ex- 
pect, soon, to be a professor.” 

“ Professor Griffin ! ” gasped Bob. “ Was I 
ever more surprised in my life?” 

The former trapper sank back in his chair. 

“ Appearances are often deceptive,” he said. 
“ Clothes make the man, and suitable sur- 
roundings will add to any illusion.” 

“ But haven’t you lived a long time in the 
woods?” asked Bob. 


3*9 


Winter Camp 

“ Oh, yes ! Off and on for years. You 
see/’ he continued, with a laugh, “ I am a 
zoologist and naturalist who believes in study- 
ing nature at first hand.” 

“ But didn’t I hear you say once,” asked 
Bob, “ that you hadn’t as much book learn- 
ing as you wanted ? ” 

“ Exactly — and neither have I. There is 
such a vast amount of knowledge to be 
gained, that even the most learned are some- 
times discouraged.” 

“ And how in the world did you manage to 
keep up that backwoods talk, even when the 
furs were taken? ” asked Bob. 

“ Well, the illusion pleased me, and, as I 
felt sure of seeing you some time in town, I 
kept it up, picturing in my mind your sur- 
prise. I must say, though, on the occasion 
when you and Hackett were lost, only my 
strong conviction that you would come out 
right enabled me to keep it up.” 

“ Will wonders never cease? ” 

Professor Griffin laughed again and con- 
tinued, “ Well, my friend the ‘animalist’ 
has offered me a professorship in the college of 
which he is president, and I have accepted it.” 


320 


The Rambler Club 


“ What will my father say to this, after all 
my talk about the trapper ?” said Bob. “ It 
is certainly a good joke on us,” and he smiled. 

“ I hope to meet him,” observed Professor 
Griffin, politely. 

“ You certainly shall. Can't you stay to 
dinner this evening ? Please say yes ! ” And 
Professor Griffin accepted the invitation. 

It was a merry dinner party that evening. 
Mr. and Mrs. Somers were delighted to meet 
the man who had helped to make the boys' 
outing a pleasant and interesting one, and all 
had many a hearty laugh, as they talked over 
the haps and mishaps of the Rambler Club's 
Winter Camp. 


Other books in this series are : 

The Rambler Club Afloat 

The Rambler Club in the Mountains 

The Rambler Club On Circle T Ranch 




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